


Highlights and Low-lights

by yamiskoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Blow Jobs, Consensual Underage Sex, Dirty Talk, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Gay Harry Potter, Gay Sirius Black, James Potter Being an Asshole, James Potter is a Good Friend, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Molly Weasley Bashing, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Canon Relationship, Oral Sex, Past Underage Sex, Romance, Sirius Black Lives, Slow Burn, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-08-06 08:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16384463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamiskoi/pseuds/yamiskoi
Summary: Harry slowly but surely finds himself falling in love with his Godfather. These are the highlights and low-lights of their story, spanning Harry's time at Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, during and after the War against Voldemort.(Rating will go up)





	1. Fourth Year/Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for checking out this fic. I plan on this being a multi-chapter story. I used to write a lot of fanfiction, but nowadays I feel a little out of practice and wanted to get back into it with one of my favourite pairings, Harry/Sirius. Some things in this fic will follow canon, other things maybe not so much (like Sirius Black living, for example). Anyway, enjoy the story!

_Before the Yule Ball_

Harry had been dealt his fair share of annoyances and misfortune, and as far as he was concerned, this was just another miserable thing to add to the pile.  

It was no comfort that he was not alone; Ron looked like Christmas had been cancelled.  

“I just don’t get why we actually have to _dance_ ,” Ron groaned, throwing himself down onto the wooden benches in the Great Hall, “Isn’t double Potions bad enough without having to worry about asking girls out?” 

Harry nodded, but didn’t volunteer anything in response. Hermione rolled her eyes.  

“Honestly Ronald, it’s not that bad at all. Harry is taking it quite well, aren’t you, Harry?” 

Harry shot her a look. “Yeah,” he said, staring down at his empty plate, “quite well.” Hermione rolled her eyes again, obviously annoyed that Harry hadn’t taken her side, and began eating her lunch. 

Of course, Harry was not taking things quite well at all. On the contrary, he was fighting to keep his breakfast down and stomach the thought of eating another meal. He was fairly certain that Hermione and Ron would end up going to the Yule Ball together, and they’d probably have a falling out or two with each other before the night was over, but in all they’d survive. 

But they didn’t have to consider what the rest of the school would think. They didn’t have to take into account their partners (or at least so Harry thought). They didn’t have to care about what would happen if they did what they really wanted and asked someone of their own gender to be their partner at the Yule Ball. 

Harry slowly began piling food on his plate and ate a few things around the side, but after a few bites he felt like he was about to be sick so he stopped. He all but glared at his surroundings, seeing friends chatting excitedly to one another. It felt as though everyone else was getting along with life just fine, and it was always him that managed to stumble into the path of misfortune and danger.

Then, it hit him, so hard he almost sighed aloud at how he hadn’t considered this before. There _was_ one person Harry could talk to about this. 

Sirius.  

* 

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Harry climbed out of bed, taking care not to step on or bump into anything. He was fully dressed and equipped with his wand, his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map.  

Although it must have been a strange sight to behold, an armless wand levitating with a _Lumos_ activated, Harry encountered nobody on his secret midnight mission to visit Sirius in his cave just outside Hogsmeade. He hadn’t prewarned anyone about his castle desertion, but he felt that as tomorrow was a Saturday, he wouldn’t need to worry about his sleeping in until long past midday, as he planned to do to account for his excursion outside the safety of Hogwarts... at least, that was his excuse, and if his friends (Hermione) didn't like it, then he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

The venture outside the grounds was uneventful, and after what seemed like an eternity later, Harry arrived outside Sirius’ cave and he paused, thinking for a moment. What if Sirius had put up wards and charms? What if Sirius was asleep already and he was robbing his Godfather of precious rest? 

Whilst he stood there deliberating under his cloak, he _Noxed_ his wand just in time to see a huge shaggy dog emerge from the darkness of the cave, sniffing the air curiously. He seemed to look directly at Harry, although a quick visual confirmed to the Boy-Who-Lived that he was still hidden beneath his cloak. 

“Padfoot,” Harry hissed, and the Animagus stilled, sniffing about the air again. With one last look around to check he hadn’t been followed, Harry took off his cloak. “Here.” 

The Animagus considered him for a moment with a cocked head and a single wag of his tail before padding back into the cave. Harry followed, clutching the Invisibility Cloak. 

“What’s happened?” Sirius asked immediately, having de-transformed as soon as he was back inside the cave. He looked a lot less skinny since Harry had last seen him – thanks mostly to the care packages him and the others had been sending him – and even his hair looked smoother, shinier. His skin had returned to a normal hue after spending time away from the Dementors and Azkaban, although the shadows dancing inside of the cave deepened the bruise-coloured circles beneath his eyes, now full of concern. 

All of a sudden, Harry felt really, really stupid. He had escaped the castle’s protection and worried his Godfather... because of a relatively minor problem. He bit his lip, not quite sure what to say. Sirius kept on looking at him worriedly, although he seemed more comfortable now he was sat on the cave floor beside the fire. 

“I...” Harry started awkwardly, avoiding Sirius’ eyes. He sank down to the floor and sighed, staring into the fire.  

“Hi,” he started again, and Sirius blinked in response.  

“Hi, Harry...” Sirius said slowly, his grey eyes still shining with anxiety. Although the two had been unable to spend as much time with each other as they’d both had liked, Sirius knew enough about his Godson to understand that something was wrong. He shuffled so he was a bit closer to Harry, who still hadn’t taken his eyes away from the fire, the flames licking up the dry wood comfortably. Harry shivered a bit, making a mental note to send Sirius some thicker, warmer clothes. 

“Why aren’t you in bed, Harry?” Sirius asked, trying a different tack.  

“I wanted to see you.” 

A grin. “That’s very sweet, Harry, but I don’t think that’s all there is to it.” 

A smile and a small nod. “Yeah.” 

Silence. Sirius didn’t say anything, but he did feel warmer, and not just because he was sat next to the fire. It was wonderful to hear his Godson say nice things to him (even if only in monosyllables), after years of neglect and unkindness from Azkaban. Teenage-Him would be grinning inanely, with Remus rolling his eyes and Lily muttering something under her breath about him being too charming, too cocky. 

So, they sat together in the semi-darkness, until Harry finally broke the silence. 

“So-” Harry frowned, shaking his head. He slumped, accepting defeat. “I don’t know where to start.” 

Sirius kept his mouth shut. A rare godsend. 

“I’m gay,” Harry said in a whisper, but he was certain Sirius had heard. He tried to surreptitiously glean Sirius’ reaction, but the older man just smiled and nodded. 

“I know,” Sirius replied, “gays can always tell gays.” He said with a grin.

He said it so matter-of-factly Harry almost didn't question it.

“But that’s... the thing,” Harry said in frustration, standing up and pacing around the cave. Sirius didn’t move from his seated position, but he did turn to watch his Godson. 

“Sirius, I’m a Triwizard Champion... I have to go to... to the... to the Yule Ball.” 

Sirius opened his mouth and then immediately closed it. ‘ _You never think before you speak,’_ Lily’s voice scolded him inside his head. He tried again.

“Ah,” he said instead, and he started to feel sorry for him, “and you have to dance with _someone_ because you’re a Champion, but you want to dance with a guy and the rest of the school doesn’t know you’re into boys, and-” 

“And I don’t know how to dance,” Harry finished for him, then ran over and looked at his Godfather pleadingly, despite the bark of laughter from the older wizard.

“Please, Sirius, I need help... teach me how to dance.” 

Sirius blinked. Then he blinked again. “... What?” he asked, looking at Harry as if he’d grown three heads. Of all the questions he'd been expecting Harry to ask, learning how to dance had not been one of them.

Harry threw his hands up, agitated. He looked so much like James in that moment, hair dishevelled from the Invisibility Cloak it made Sirius' chest hurt. “You come from a Pureblood family, right? Surely they taught you how to dance.”  

Sirius barked out another laugh, partly because it was true, but partly because Harry’s reasoning was so terrible it made his heart fill up just a little bit more with affection for the boy. He fought the urge to ruffle the messy hair on his Godson's head.

“They did...” Sirius began, cautiously, “but Harry, surely-” 

“Please, Sirius,” Harry pleaded, grabbing Sirius’ hands with his own. “Whatever happens at this thing, I’m gonna be pretending one way or another, and I don't want to make a fool out of myself, so... please?”

Sirius sighed. “I _do_ know how to dance,” he confirmed slowly, gripping Harry's hands – smaller, colder, softer than his - “I don't enjoy it all that much, but I'll try to teach you what I know.”

Harry beamed at him. “Great! Thanks, Sirius.” He finally let go of the hands he'd been holding. “When can we start?”

Sirius shot him a devilish look. “No time like the present,” he said with a smirk, getting up and dusting himself off. There was a hint of a challenge in his eyes, in his stance, and it was something that as a true Gryffindor, Harry couldn't resist.

“Fine,” Harry said, standing up and stepping closer to his Godfather. It was only at this distance that he realised just how tall Sirius was – although he'd shot up in the past half a year or so, Sirius still managed to be a whole head taller than him. The older man was staring at him with a wolfish grin and an easy, unforced confidence about him that made Harry reconsider.

Before he could voice his concerns, however, Sirius had grabbed his right hand, placing it firmly on his waist, and then interlinked the fingers of their other hand. He began humming some tune, a waltz of some kind, a tad too fast for Harry, and as soon as Sirius moved forwards, Harry stumbled back, feet moving in minute steps to avoid falling. The older man didn't say anything, but smiled, and slowed his tune a little. Harry nodded to show that he was ready to try again, but found the sheer synchronicity of dancing a major hurdle. For every effortless glide that Sirius managed across the floor of the dank cave, Harry stumbled and shuffled like a newborn puppy trying to map its surroundings for the first time.

Unperturbed, Sirius carried on, until Harry all but fell into him again, and he stopped.

“We have a long way to go,” he said bluntly, and thankfully Harry stilll had enough humour about him – despite the late hour – to laugh at himself.

“Yeah. And the bloody thing is on Christmas Day, too. So we don't have a lot of time.”

Sirius smiled faintly. “We have time,” he said, and the simple reasurrance made Harry smile in return.

They decided to end their training for the evening, and although Harry needed to get back to the castle soon, and he needed to get some rest, he wanted to stay and spend quality time with his Godfather, and Sirius craved the company and human interaction. So, they stayed together for a little longer.

“Back in the day, we used to have Graduation Balls at Hogwarts. Really!” Sirius protested when he saw Harry raise a brow sceptically, “I think it was more for morale... things weren't great back then, as you can imagine, with Death Eaters running around and Voldemort gaining power like he was.”

Harry nodded in understanding. He liked that Sirius was also unafraid in saying Voldemort's name, that he was braver than most of the other adults he knew, that with him he could relax and feel safe. It felt good.

“Anyway, I ended up taking Moony,” Sirius continued, and began to grin at the memory...

*

“Don't be ridiculous, Sirius, I'm not going to that goddamned Graduation Ball,” Remus said, not even bothering to look up from the book he was reading, curled up in an armchair beside the fire. He looked a little worse for wear, having just regained control of his body, and his eyes were drooped, permanent purple stamps punched into them.

“Sure you are!” Sirius cried, scooting over to sit himself on the arm of his friend's chair, “You're going with me!”

Remus didn't take the bait, although he did shift in his seat to avoid his friend's hair from falling into his face. “No, I'm not,” he said simply, eyes fixed on his book as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Are.”

“Are not.”

“Are.”

“Are not.”

“Sirius!” Lily cried out in relief, climbing into the Gryffindor common room, rushing over to where two of the Marauders were sat. Her hair was frazzled, and she looked ready to Hex the next person who upset her. “You have to go to the Ball with me. James just won't shut up about it and I'm still mad at him for-”

“Sorry Lily!” Sirius said loudly, cutting her off, wrapping an arm around Remus and tugging him closer, “I already have a date.”

“Lying is bad, Sirius,” Remus said absent-mindedly, frowning at a particularly challenging passage about the usefulness of crushed Diricawl bones in potion-making.

Lily looked between the two of them, Sirius' confident grin and Remus' unperturbed face causing her to hesitate. Her face was stormy and definitely not in the mood to be told ‘no’, as Sirius had just so proudly done.

“I swear to God Sirius, I won't teach you anymore braids until you agree to go to the Ball with me,” the redhead threatened, folding her arms. Sirius shrugged.

“I know enough to be getting along with,” he replied, almost falling into Remus' lap when he pulled his friend even closer, earning himself a whack from the book his friend was holding. “Besides, I'm not getting involved in your lover's tiff. You and James are both adults now, and ought to act like you are.”

“Yes, Sirius, because you're _so_ mature,” Remus piped up again, trying to shove Sirius away, who seemed to have stuck to him like a limpet.

“Sure am,” the wizard replied.

Lily groaned in frustration and ran a hand through her hair. For a moment, she looked a bit like James with his windswept coiff. “Fine,” she hissed, and stalked off. Sirius stayed perched on Remus' chair, despite the werewolf's elbow digging into his stomach. Remus snapped his book shut and looked up at Sirius with a sigh.

“You know I'm not gay.”

“Duh.”

“Then why ask me when you could have anyone you wanted?”

“Because!” Sirius began, gesticulating wildly as he sought the right words to say, “you'll enjoy it. And! And, you'll... you'll have fun when you're there. Besides, you don't look like you've had time to find a date, so I thought I'd offer to be yours for the night,” he finished dramatically, and Remus rolled his eyes. They sat in an amiable silence for a moment, both staring at the fire.

“If this disagreement between Lily and James continues, you'll be able to take him like you really want,” Remus said, not really out of jealousy.

Sirius stiffened. Remus glanced back up at his friend, shooting him a reassuring smile as he reopened his book.

“You're still not over him,” it wasn't a question. Sirius nodded. His stomach felt tight and anxiety spread outwards from his core.

“I don't know if...” Sirius swallowed hard, trying to fight away the sudden blockage in his throat, “... if I'll ever be truly over him, Moony.”

Remus didn't say anything, but rested his head against Sirius' arm to show he was listening, that he was there. The small action had Sirius blinking quickly, fighting unbidden tears. Although his anxiety remained, it seemed less overwhelming somehow. Remus never had to do much to alleviate his concerns – simply feeling listened to gave Sirius all the validation and reassurance he needed.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, barely above a whisper. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against his friend's head, ignoring the scratches hiding beneath his hairline, still sore and tender from the events of the full moon.

Another few moments passed in companiable silence, until Moony very quietly said, “Fine. I'll go to the Ball with you, just... just promise you won't spend the entire night pining over him, okay?”

*

“When can I come back?” Harry asked as Sirius guided him to the entrance of the cave. The older man thought for a moment.

“Well,” he said slowly, “you need a lot of help...”

“... So Sunday then?” Harry asked, hopefully. Sirius grinned.

“Alright.”

Harry left the cave, hidden completely under his Invisibility Cloak. His face was ice cold as the bitter winds forced him back to Hogwarts, but inside he felt totally warm. Despite his shockingly poor dancing skills, Sirius had been willing to train him, and had still maintained a positive outlook even after seeing just how bad the situation was. To Harry, Sirius was a Godfather and friend wrapped into one lovely, convenient package – something he'd rarely had from the other men in his life, except for maybe Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley. And the one-to-one contact! Not having to share the man with anyone else! Despite his tiredness and freezing cold toes, Harry was satisfied inside, and when he eventually fell into bed, exhausted, he had a grin on his face.

*

Step. Step. Step. Wrong way. Bump. Restart. Step. Step. Step. Step. Spin. Bump and stumble. A sigh. Frustration. A reassuring hug. A smile. They tried again.

Slowly but surely, Harry was improving. Although he lacked the natural gracefulness Sirius had when he was sliding and moving across the jagged cave floor, he could usually step in the right direction at the right time. He began to smile as he danced with his Godfather, their dance something that made him giddy, that made him appreciate more and more the handsome features of the older wizard… the grey but warm eyes…

Harry found himself opting for lessons as often as he dared, although he was beginning to suspect one of two things. The first, that Hermione and Ron were suspicious about the abrupt change in his nightly routine: the second, that he was developing a crush on Sirius.

There was something ineffably handsome about the man, and Harry wasn’t quite sure what it was. Was it his humour? Most nights, Harry found himself grinning and laughing until his face and stomach hurt. Was it his rougher look, his features scratchy and stubbly due to the want of a decent mirror, bath and razor? Was it the adoration that (to Harry) Sirius just seemed to exude, the feeling that he was always listened to, that his opinions were valid and worthy of notice? Harry couldn’t say for sure. All he knew was that he was falling, fast and hard. And their inevitable closeness was quickly shifting from something he needed to do for the Yule Ball, to something that he _needed to do_ to satisfy his cravings for the older man.

*

_Three Days Before the Yule Ball_

  
  


“You’ve got it,” Sirius said with a grin, pulling Harry closer to his chest to give him a congratulatory hug. Harry eagerly returned the contact, his heart skipping a beat and burning with need. All too soon they parted, Sirius beaming down at him, and suddenly Harry felt so _proud_ , so _accomplished._ Sirius made him feel like he could do anything.

“Come on, let’s celebrate,” Sirius said, steering Harry closer to the fire with a firm hand. Harry had but a moment to appreciate the feeling of a warm, heavy hand directing him, before Sirius scurried over to his things to dig out a bottle of firewhisky.

“I don’t have any glasses, I’m afraid,” Sirius explained, opening the bottle deftly, “but I thought you needed to unwind a little to celebrate. You’ve officially passed Padfoot’s Dance Class.”

Harry was glowing, and not just from his proximity to the fire – his cheeks warmed a little at the compliment. He accepted the proffered bottle, although he was a bit nervous – he’d never tasted Firewhisky before.

As if sensing this, Sirius lowered the bottle a little, “Just take it easy. Don’t take a big gulp of it for your first time. Sip it, get a taste for it.”

Excited and a little thrilled at this blatant act of rebellion, Harry accepted the bottle and took a swig whilst Sirius watched with hopeful eyes. Harry cringed a bit at the burning sensation but forced it down anyway, despite Sirius’ laugh.

“It’s always like that the first time. Then it gets good,” he said, taking the bottle back and downing a fairly large mouthful with ease. Harry watched admiringly. They went like that for a little bit, passing the bottle between them, laughing, joking. Every now and then, Harry would grab the bottle a little tighter than he really needed to, savouring the contact between his and Sirius’ fingers as the older man wriggled his fingers free, laughing.

“Now Harry,” Sirius said, suddenly very serious-looking, “I can’t let you get drunk on my watch. Your parents would be furious.”

Harry returned the grave look, nodding in agreement. “Yes. You’re right. You should let me get wasted.”

Sirius smirked and passed the bottle back, watching Harry take another swig, more confidently than before. “You sound like your father,” he snorted, gazing up at the roof of the cave in memory, “we used to smuggle bottles of the stuff in. I think McGonagall knew, but could never actually catch us doing it. I was certain she could smell the stuff on me the morning after.”

They talked like that for a while. The bottle got lighter and lighter, harder to grab hold of, as if it were moving…

“Oh God, Harry,” Sirius said after Harry giggled, trying to grab the bottle from his steady hands, “you’re so drunk.”

“So drunk,” Harry repeated, and Sirius pulled the bottle just a little bit out of his reach. Harry whined, lurching forwards in an effort to take another drink, and then found himself sprawled across Sirius’ lap, balance a forgotten skill.

Harry looked up at his Godfather’s face from his position on his chest, the world lagging behind his eyes a bit. He looked wonderful, an expression of concern on his face, his long hair recently washed and fanned around his face, a scratchy beard framing really, _really_ desirable lips…

Harry crawled his way up to his Godfather’s face, and kissed him.

For one long, painful moment, Sirius froze. He didn’t react. Harry brought a hand to Sirius’ face, trying to lick his mouth open. Then in the next second, Sirius opened his mouth, and their tongues met, and Harry let out a whimper as he got what he wanted. A large hand rested on the back of his neck, allowing the kiss to continue, whilst another wrapped around Harry’s middle, pulling him a little closer. Harry’s mouth, still burning from the firewhisky, was soothed by Sirius’ lips and tongue, and he pushed himself a little closer, a jolt of pleasure running through him at the contact.

As soon as that happened, though, it seemed to initiate some kind of rational thinking in Sirius, and the older man pushed him away, hands releasing Harry from their increasingly insistent grip.

“Harry, you’re – you’re drunk, you’re very drunk-”

“I want to do this-”

“You don’t know what you’re doing, you’re-”

“I know what I want! I want you, Sirius, I like you a lot,” Harry snapped, wincing at how much like a child he sounded at the last part. His Godfather pushed himself a little further away, a faint smile on his lips.

“Harry, there’re so many reasons why we can’t do this,” he said, more gently this time, “you’re drunk, it’s not right,” he whispered. Harry glared at him, and he staggered to his feet. That feeling of happiness - of being understood completely - had faded, and now he just felt confused and frustrated. He wasn’t thinking clearly, but he knew he wanted nothing more than to be alone so he could suffer his humiliation in isolation.

“I know what I want,” he repeated, turning and making for the exit with only the smallest of stumbles. Sirius grabbed him, turning him back around.

“Harry, you can’t go back to Hogwarts now,” he said, steering him firmly towards his bedroll, “you’re too drunk and I can’t accompany you, the whole world thinks I’m hiding out in Bulgaria. You’re going to have to stay here for the rest of the evening and leave in the morning.”

“You don’t want me here,” Harry mumbled, not quite sure why he was so hurt, and boy did it hurt. He felt raw, crushed, lonely.

“Harry – Harry,” Sirius said, this time sternly. He grabbed Harry by the arms, forcing him to look at him. His face wasn’t ungentle, but he had certainly sobered up a bit.

“We need to talk about this,” Sirius said, squeezing the small arms under his palms, “but, I… I think that’s a bad idea for right now. We can talk about this in the morning. But Harry, I do _not_ intend on getting sent back to Azkaban for breaking my duty of care to you.” Harry didn’t say anything, so Sirius shook him a little bit.

“You kissed me back,” Harry grumbled, his words a little slurred. Sirius sighed.

“I did,” he admitted, pushing back a little bit in case Harry tried to initiate another kiss, “but I'm the grown up in the room and I need to act like one."

"You kissed me back," Harry repeated, his sadness peeling away. He even managed a smile. "It was nice. You're good at that."

"So I've been told," Sirius said, with some humour in his voice even as he chivvied his drunk Godson over to his bedroll and to the plush covers he'd received in a recent care package hauled up the hill by Harry. Slowly he eased Harry down, and he settled beside him.

“It's cold, so you have to sleep with me,” Harry said matter-of-factly, and Sirius grimaced, admitting defeat.

“Yes, I know, Harry. But that doesn't mean anything, okay?” he said, and Harry nodded in what seemed to be seriousness, although his flushed cheeks let Sirius know he was still really drunk. “Alright. Now close your eyes. We both need to sleep.”

Harry whined for a moment, until Sirius brought the covers around both of them, and he snuggled a little more comfortably into the bedroll. He pressed his nose against Sirius' shoulder, nuzzling the skinny flesh there.

“Good night, Harry,” Sirius said, in his most commanding voice.

“Mmmm... g'night, Sirry...” Harry mumbled, and the older Wizard tried not to laugh at the nickname. Eventually, Harry's breathing slowed and Sirius could be certain the boy was sleeping.

For a while, Sirius simply stared at the roof of his humble abode, replaying what had happened over and over in his mind and hoping that Harry just had a simple crush on him. It made sense that Harry would like him, the boy had been shown no love or affection before – except from perhaps Hagrid and the Weasleys, Sirius thought to himself with a grin. Yes, this was surely a passing thing, and many years from now they'd laugh amiably about the time they'd drunkenly kissed in a cave just outside Hogsmeade.

Content with that explanation, Sirius closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  
  


 

 


	2. Fourth Year/Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius wakes up and Harry has to leave, but they definitely need to talk about what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for the comments and kudos so far - you've really motivated me to work on this chapter! I don't think I'll be able to maintain this level of output, but we'll see. Some of this chapter was difficult to write, including the ending scene. I hope that my writing style makes sense and is readable and enjoyable, and not too fast -I have so many ideas for these two I'm worried I'm rushing things a bit. But this is meant to be the major parts of their story together, so that's my reasoning at the moment - but please let me know what you think as a comment at the end. Thanks again for reading, enjoy the chapter!

When Sirius opened his eyes, sunlight was already brightening the walls of the cave. The air was cool on his face, and the air was fresh. He breathed it in, a practice he'd begun ever since breaking out of Azkaban, because he never wanted to take fresh air for granted again.

It took him a moment to figure out why there was a curled-up, black-haired beauty cuddling him.

“Shit! Harry, wake up!” Suddenly he was wide awake, pushing and prodding Harry to get the boy to wake up faster. The young wizard groaned, but Sirius persisted. “Harry – fuck – you need to get back to Hogwarts, now!”

Harry moaned again, curling himself into an even tighter ball to avoid the worst of Sirius' onslaught. “My head hurts,” came a muffled, croaky voice.

“Will do if you drink too much Firewhisky. Told you to stop drinking,” Sirius chastised, tugging at the bedsheets to unroll his Godson, hoping that exposure to the cold, crisp air would force him to move. Unfortunately, the boy only gripped the sheets tighter, whining again in complaint.

Sirius stood back for a moment, shrugging his shoulders. He tried a different tack.

“Alright, Harry. Have it your way. But your friends are going to be very worried about you. I've no doubt they'll inform your Head of House, and then you'll get -”

That did the trick. Harry's eyes flew open. His hair was a ruffled, stuck-up mess, and his face was pale. Despite the situation, he looked quite adorable.

“Fuck!”

“Definitely not today, Harry. Glad you're up.”

“Sirius – shit, I'm not meant to be out of the castle-”

“I _know_. You need to get moving. Now.” Harry untangled himself from the bedsheets as fast as he could, reaching around for his wand and glasses. Finding them, he shoved the wand in his pocket and forced the glasses onto his face. He met Sirius' gaze and paused for a moment, his frantic efforts abandoned.

It didn't take an expert Legilimens to know what was going through Harry's mind. Sirius softened a little, grabbing Harry's shoulders.

“Look, we have a lot to talk about,” Sirius said, steering Harry towards the mouth of the cave, “but right now you need to get back to school. Send me an owl-”

“Don't we need to talk about this in person?” Harry interrupted, confused. His cheeks burned at the memory of their kiss last night, only partly from embarrassment. In the daylight Sirius looked even more handsome, the light more forgiving on his Azkaban-worn face and dark circles.

Sirius brought them both to a stop.

“Okay, well – maybe – yes – I don't know!” Sirius said, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. He looked extremely worried, something Harry hadn't seen since escaping the Dementors back in third year. He frowned at the sight, but didn't know what to say.

“Right,” Harry said, anxiety unfurling in his stomach like a robe, “I'll go.”

“CLOAK, Harry, your cloak,” Sirius cried, rushing back into the cave to retrieve it. Harry kicked at the floor in frustration whilst he waited, staring at Hogwarts from the cave entrance. How long would it take him to run back – twenty, thirty minutes? It was hard to tell. Regardless, he was in big trouble.

When Sirius came back, he draped the cloak around his Godson's shoulders, giving him what he hoped was a bracing look.

“Send me an owl tonight,” Sirius reminded him, giving him a little shove. “Now go!”

Harry didn't need to be told twice. Covering his head with the cloak, he tugged the fabric together and sped down the hill as fast as he could. Despite his worry about what was going to happen between him and Sirius, about just how badly McGonagall would punish him, he couldn't help but feel a niggling sense of pride.

Sirius had kissed him back.

*

If Harry had ever associated himself with the moniker of the 'boy-who-lived', he certainly felt the complete opposite as he dragged himself up the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room, ignoring the stares and whispers of his peers on the staircase. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, ran down his back in ticklish drips. He gasped out the password to the alarmed portrait, who immediately swung open. He staggered, falling into the nearest available chair, gasping for breath.

After maybe ten minutes of sitting, sweating, and regaining his breath, Harry realised he felt awfully sick. His stomach was churning, and his vision swam a little. An insistent pounding in his head made it all worse. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping it would clear; it didn't. He groaned and cupped his stomach with his hands.

Harry considered his options. He could get up and go to bed, possibly feel worse and be found in an unsavoury position. He could stay where he was and throw up everywhere. Or he could go to Madam Pomfrey and hope that she was willing to part with some kind of anti-nausea potion to cure the worst of his hangover.

It was crazy for him to choose the final option, but of course it was the option Harry chose. He stumbled his way through the portrait, and began making his way through the castle, trying to avoid being jostled by the people milling around. His stomach was churning, and a stolen glance at his reflection showed an incredibly pale, watery-eyed mess.

He'd made it halfway there before hearing the worst.

“You! Where the HELL have you been?” Hermione yelled, storming up to him. If Harry could have paled even more, he would have – her hair was mussed and tousled, and her eyes were red as if she'd been crying. She was clutching her wand as if about to attack a Dementor, eyes wide and frantic. “Do you have ANY idea how long we've been looking for you?!” She demanded.

Ron, usually the last to notice things, realised that something was amiss. “Come on, Hermione – it hasn't been _that_ long,” he started, before she rounded on him.

“Don't you DARE defend him, Ronald Weasley! We've been searching for THREE HOURS, Harry. We even have Professor McGonagall looking for you, she's going to be absolutely-”

“Furious, Miss Granger,” came a stern voice from behind them. Harry turned as fast as he dared, willing his nausea to subside. Professor McGonagall towered over them, her face all the more severe in the light of the corridor, and she did not appear to be amused by the situation. She folded her arms.

“Where have you been, Mr Potter, that it has taken two of your friends and one Hogwarts Professor all morning to find you?” She asked, arching an eyebrow as she took in the trio's state – one frazzled Hermione Granger, one sheepish Ron Weasley and one pale, clammy Harry Potter.

“We only just found him, Professor, we-”

“-We were going to come tell you immediately-”

“I feel sick,” Harry mumbled, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to swallow away the saliva flooding his mouth. It felt like the world was spinning. He opened his eyes and it span the other way.

“What was that, Mr Potter?” Professor McGonagall asked, the slightest look of concern on her face. Harry looked up at her, and then the next thing he knew he was on his knees, vomiting. The flow seemed endless, wave after wave flushing itself out, but eventually his stomach emptied itself and he was left gasping for breath, trying his best not to get his hands in the hot, putrid mess. He moaned pathetically, spitting out remnants of his vomit onto the floor.

After a while, Professor McGonagall spoke. Her shoes were only slightly specked with sick. “Well. It seems that someone's overdone it. Potter, follow me. Granger, Weasley, find Mr Filch and ask him to rearrange Corridor two on the Second floor. He'll know what I mean.” Harry rose unsteadily to his feet, trying his best not to taste his own mouth or touch anything. Ron shot him a sympathetic glance before turning on his heel and running towards Filch's office. Hermione did the same, but only after staring guiltily at her best friend. Harry slowly began to follow the Transfigurations Professor.

“We both know why and how this happened, Mr Potter, let's not pretend about that,” McGonagall said quietly as they rushed along the corridors and into her office. They went inside her office together, and Harry wondered whether his detention was effective immediately. He took a seat at his teacher's desk, shaking.

McGonagall pushed a cauldron and some ingredients in front of Harry, paused, and then poured him a glass of cool water to drink. Harry took some, still shaking. The water was soothing, and he felt his tummy cease its complaining a little. There was a minty tang infused into the water which took away some of the foul aftertaste from his mouth.

“Now, Mr Potter. I'm going to help you, but you're going to work for it. I'm not an expert at Potions like Professor Snape, but I can cook up a mean Hangover Cure when I have to.” She frowned for a moment as she looked over her supplies. “Oh, blast it,” she snapped, before throwing some powder into the fire behind her, shouting, “Professor Snape's office!”

“What is it, Minerva?” Came Snape's voice, unfriendly as always. Despite his condition, Harry still managed to feel hatred for the man.

“Yes, Severus, Good Afternoon to you, too,” the Gryffindor leader said weakly, so that Harry had to lean across the table to hear her, “I may have overdone it a little last night with the sherry – anyway, I don't seem to have enough Bicorn Horn. Do you happen to have any leftover?”

There was a short pause, during which Harry could have sworn he heard a sigh from the fire. “Pre-crushed or whole?” the Potions Master asked. It didn't seem like the first time he'd been asked.

“Whole, please, Severus,” McGonagall replied, sniffing loudly, “it's the only way I'll learn.”

Snape didn't reply, but a few moments later a Bicorn Horn flew out of the fire, and onto McGonagall's desk.

“Much obliged, Severus,” McGonagall said, before withdrawing her head from the flames and turning back to see her student listening in. She frowned. “Get grinding, Potter. You'll need that crushed into the finest powder.” Harry started, and busied himself with the mortar and pestle under McGonagall's watchful eye. “Make sure it's well and truly crushed, Potter – see there, look, there's still some solid bits, grind those up until they look like sand... better, Potter, better...” The repetitive thudding was not fun for Harry's headache, so McGonagall refilled his glass with a flick of her wand. “Be sure not to contaminate the Horn, Potter.”

Under McGonagall's supervision, Harry slowly but surely put together all the parts needed for his Hangover Potion. Not being the best at potions, Harry had thought he'd embarrass himself in front of his Head of House, but surprisingly McGonagall's Potions teaching was solid – 'better than the greasy git's', Harry brooded – and his potion actually looked drinkable.

“Continue to stir that for five more minutes, Potter, that should do,” McGonagall said finally, after much crushing and trimming and mixing. Harry's arms felt like lead, but he didn't say anything. He worked almost mechanically, hoping he wouldn't retch before the potion was finished.

“Now, Potter, how is your Godfather?” the Professor asked, and Harry stared at her, dumbly. McGonagall rolled her eyes. “Don't lie, Potter – this has his pawprints all over it. I assume he is staying somewhere nearby?” Cursing himself, Harry nodded.

“Yes, Professor,” he confessed in a whisper, staring into the cauldron as he stirred the mixture. It was beginning to thicken. He didn't dare look his teacher in the eyes. Was she angry at him, or at her former student?

She sniffed. “Slow down your stirring, Potter. Like that, yes, good.” She settled back into her comfortable armchair before continuing, eyes sternly fixed on her pupil, “And is he doing well for himself?”

Harry shrugged, glancing at his Professor. “He – seems to be doing fine, Professor. He was cold a few weeks back, so I took him a thick duvet from the supplies cupboard. I, err... I know that's not allowed, but-”

“Your heart was in the right place, Harry,” McGonagall said abruptly, and Harry fell silent. She leaned forward to check on Harry's concoction. “One more minute should do,” she mumbled, and then continued at a normal volume, “I'm glad to hear that he is doing well for himself – but he should know better than to give you enough Firewhisky for you to empty the contents of your stomach onto the floor of the Second Corridor – it's his signature drink,” McGonagall added, addressing Harry's puzzled look, because just how did she know that?

“So Potter, now you must tell me exactly why you've been sneaking out to see Sirius, and I sincerely hope it's not simply because he gives you Firewhisky.” She said, busying herself with Harry's potion. It had turned a burnt orange colour, and smelt a bit like the cough medicine Petunia Dursley had begrudgingly given Harry when he was little. Harry hoped that his efforts would produce something actually effective – Petunia had 'accidentally' given him an expired bottle of medicine.

Harry bit back a laugh. “Actually, Professor, last night was the first time I drank the stuff. But Sirius has been teaching me how to dance. Y'know, for the Yule Ball.”

McGonagall shot him a stern look. “Was my demonstration inadequate?” She asked, a slight edge to her voice.

Harry was quick to reassure her. “No, Professor! It's just, I... I'm really rubbish at dancing, and I just wanted to practice a bit more so that I don't fall over myself in front of not just my own school, but two other schools as well.” McGonagall stared at him for a moment, before dropping her intense gaze.

“I see. Well, I hope it will be worth it,” she said, pouring the mixture into a separate glass. “Take this,” she said, offering it to Harry. He took it gladly and, in one large gulp, swallowed it all. The flavour almost made him gag, and he spluttered after swallowing it down, coughing and hacking. “Well, you were meant to _sip_ it,” the Professor said with a slight smile, amused by Harry's antics. Then, she frowned. “And I certainly hope Sirius did _not_ teach you how to do _that_!”

*

At the end of the day, Harry was exhausted. He knew he had to write a letter to Sirius, but his muscles were burning from all the sprinting, and vomiting had left him weak. His head and stomach actually felt a thousand times better, but he couldn't shake off the exhaustion that was clearly creeping up on him; even the thought of climbing to the Owlery tired him. Hermione was alternating between shooting him glances that screamed 'serves you right' and concern, whilst Ron was doodling on the inside of his Divination textbook.

Eventually, Harry stirred. “I think I'm gonna get an early night,” he mumbled. Hermione shot him another one of her irritated looks, before she softened a little and replied with a quiet, “Good night.”

“See ya, Harry,” Ron said, tongue sticking out slightly as he perfected his drawing of Trelawney peering through her glasses at a crystal ball.

Harry climbed the stairs to his dormitory. He wanted nothing more than to sink into his bed and get a good ten hours of sleep, but he knew he'd promised to owl Sirius. He sighed, picking up a quill and some parchment, and hastily wrote on it:

_Dear Snuffles,_

_I made it back to Hogwarts. My friends found me but then Minnie helped me make a Hangover Potion (I puked in the Second Floor Corridor). I took it and I actually feel a lot better – I think she's a better Potions teacher than the Greasy Git in the dungeons. Anyway, she didn't seem that mad and asked about you._

Harry hesitated there, adjusting the quill in his hands over and over. What was he supposed to write next? ' _By the way, kissing was great, hope to do it again_ '? Somehow Harry couldn't see that going down too well, although his Gryffindor courage urged him to write it and then cross it out with a thin line, just for the fun of it.

' _You're a great kisser Snuffles, maybe you can teach me that too_ '? Harry giggled, knowing that if Hermione knew he was thinking this she'd be ever so cross with him. Being mischievous was fun.

' _Yule Ball?_ '? Harry allowed his mind to wander for a moment, imagining everyone's face when they saw him dancing with Sirius Black at the famed ball, stepping and spinning in perfect synchrony with each other. Excusing the fact that Sirius was still a wanted man, he thought of the look on Malfoy's face, the look of hidden glee on McGonagall's, and the twinkling eyes of Dumbledore as he saw two people in love so entranced with -

Wait, love? Harry blinked. He _really_ liked Sirius, but love? That seemed a bit much. What did love even feel like, anyway? Harry bit his lip and frowned at that one. No, he definitely wasn't in love with Sirius. To prove it to himself, he quietly cast the Patronus charm, and he smiled as the deer bounded about the room before disappearing. That solved it – what he felt for Sirius was certainly not love. But whatever he felt was strong, to the point where Harry wasn't sure what he'd do without him.

He still hadn't written anything. Harry glared down at the parchment, wishing his quill would self-write the perfect message. As much as he willed it to happen, though, it didn't – so he was stuck.

After much thought, he wrote:

_Anyway, I meant what I said last night when we were drunk. I don't really know what else to say, but I don't want you to be angry with me. When can we talk?_

_From,_

_You-Know-Who_

Harry stared at the letter over and over again, still not completely satisfied, but not knowing what to put. He hoped his weird sense of humour wouldn't come off as strange, or desperate... Harry shook his head. It was no good worrying about that now. Things were definitely going to change between him and Sirius, there was no doubt about that.

For a good five minutes, Harry spent his time summoning the strength to trudge up to the Owlery. As he did so, his eyes started to close, and he drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

*

Harry woke up, refreshed. He felt good. It was Christmas Eve, and there were no classes to attend. His bed was comfortable, and he sighed contentedly. He shifted, wanting to savour the feeling of lying in a warm, cozy bed for a little bit more. The bed crinkled as he moved, and it took him a second to figure out why.

“Shit,” was all he said, seeing the letter he hadn't sent to Sirius still on the bed, a little crumpled by sleep. He jumped out of bed, still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday, shoved on his old trainers, and ran up to the Owlery. He took two steps at a time, and it would have felt like flying had Harry's limbs been fine, but they were still stiff from sprinting yesterday. He gritted his teeth and ran anyway, arriving at the Owlery clutching the letter like it meant everything to him. He approached Hedwig and gasped out Sirius' name, but she did nothing. Her amber eyes glared back at him, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I'm sorry,” he said, reaching up to stroke her snowy feathers. Hedwig eventually let out a resounding _hoot_ , allowing the fuss and attention. Harry's free hand reached around, scrabbling to find some feed for her, when he touched someone else’s hand. Harry turned, an apology on his lips before he saw who it was.

Malfoy. He was better prepared for the harsh, sharp coldness of the Owlery, wearing a hooded woolen cape tied with an old POTTER STINKS badge. His boots were thick and better suited for crunching through slippery ice than Harry's old trainers, which seemed to be leaking slightly.

“Potter,” Draco said as a way of greeting. Harry said nothing, finding some feed and giving it to Hedwig, which she accepted with a grateful nibble at Harry's fingers. “Up very early, aren't you?” The Slytherin asked, unperturbed by the Gryffindor's silence. Breath puffed out of his mouth in white clouds.

“You're _so_ observant,” Harry said coldly, rolling up his parchment so that Hedwig could deliver her mail. He was aware of Malfoy listening in, so he whispered, “You know where to go. Be careful. Fly safe.” Hedwig gave a final hoot of acknowledgement, flying away in a flurry of pure white feathers. Harry watched her for a moment before turning to face Draco, who hadn't taken his eyes off him. “What?” he demanded. Draco was blocking the exit, and it was cold. His feet were soaked and his legs were complaining. He really wanted to get back into bed and warm up, waiting for Sirius' reply.

“Got a date for the ball yet, Potter?” Draco asked with a smirk, pulling on black velvet gloves. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Course I have. Not everyone's as unlikable as you. Now _move_.”

Draco stayed exactly where he was, folding his arms in defiance. “Boy or girl?” Harry hesitated. Draco's smirk widened. “Girl, then. How d'you think she'd feel if she knew you were bent?”

Harry shrugged. “'Bout the same as your date, I'd imagine.”

Draco's smirk dropped.

“Piss off, Potter.”

“Then let me go.”

“No.”

Harry glared at the Slytherin, stepping forwards. He remembered his wand in his back pocket, and checked to see if it had survived the race to the Owlery – it had. Draco took a step forwards, too, and then they were extremely close. Draco's grey eyes held a challenge, waiting for Harry to step back, draw his wand, do anything to show weakness. Harry simply glared back, scowling.

Then, just like Harry had known since he realised they were alone, Draco leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to his lips. The Slytherin's lips were soft and wet, a contrast to the harsh words he spoke. Harry kept his eyes open, satisfied when he saw Draco's slide shut. He didn't move, not even when the other teen kept kissing his lips, brought his hands up to Harry's shoulders.

He didn’t feel anything inside.

Draco drew away, a satisfied smile on his face. He kept himself close, eyes flicking between Harry's eyes and his lips. “How was that?” he asked softly, eyes shining with confidence.

Harry thought for a moment. “It's weird,” he said in wonderment.

“Hm? Why?” Draco whispered, stroking a hand through Harry's hair. Now his eyes held affection and pride at his latest conquest.

“Because you've somehow got even shitter at that.”

For a moment, Draco was stunned, his hand half-frozen in the other boy's black hair. Then he pushed Harry away so hard he hit his back against the wooden beams of the Owlery. ‘Worth it’, Harry thought to himself, despite the pain.

“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy spat at him, gripping his wand so hard it looked like it would snap. Harry drew his wand slowly, casually, lazily pointing it at the Slytherin. “And your breath stinks!” The teen hissed, fumbling with his POTTER STINKS badge and flashing it angrily.

Harry smirked. “Haven't brushed my teeth yet.”

“Argh! That's disgusting, Potter, you're disgusting!” Malfoy swore, raising his wand as if to attack. Luckily, Harry saw that he could leave, and he walked past the pale, ruffled teen with his head held high. He kept a firm grip on his wand in case Draco had forgotten the humiliating experience of being Transfigured into a ferret a few months ago by Professor Moody, but somehow managed to make his way down the tower without being Hexed.

*

Harry was sitting comfortably in the common room in clean, warm clothes, sipping hot chocolate when Hedwig returned, insistently tapping at the glass. He swallowed as he went and let the owl inside, nervousness unfurling inside him again. He knew Sirius was probably mad at him, if not for the kiss then at least for the delayed letter. In truth, he hadn’t worried about it too much up until that point, content to replay the two most recent kisses he’d had in his mind over and over, each time concluding that Sirius was definitely the better kisser, and that him and Draco really needed to finish – whatever it was they were doing.

Unable to put it off any longer, Harry opened up the letter:

_You-who-must-not-be-named,_

_I was so bloody worried about you_ (Harry cringed) _. You almost had me breaking into the Castle (again!)._

_Thumbs up on the Hangover Potion – it’s a good one to remember._

_I think it is best if we talk, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come back so soon. Be free tonight at the usual time, usual place._

Instead of a signature, Sirius had left a huge, muddy pawprint. Harry read and reread the message, dismissing Hedwig with a whispered ‘thanks’. Something about its brevity made him feel off, but he had little time to worry about it before Hermione came down from the girls’ dormitory, bundled up in layers of warm lounge-wear – she had no intentions of leaving the common room today except for meals or a trip to the library.

“What have you got there, Harry?” She asked, and Harry hastily shoved the note inside his pocket.

“Nothing,” he answered all-too quickly. Hermione opened her mouth to interrogate him, but thankfully closed it.

“Boys,” she grumbled, opening the book she’d been reading the previous evening.

*

Of course, Sirius’ letter wasn’t really that difficult to decipher – Harry wasn’t stupid. _The usual time and usual place_ referred to the Gryffindor Common Room’s fireplace at 1am. Harry felt himself getting more and more impatient as the day passed by, silently willing his fellow Gryffindors to go to bed early for Santa as darkness fell and snow began to drift past the windows.

Harry was considering Cursing Neville for reading in the corner at 12:45, but luckily he went to bed with a loud yawn and a ‘Merry Christmas, Harry’ shortly after. Then, all Harry had to do was wait. And wait. And wait.

It was 1am.

Pretty much immediately after the clock finished chiming, Sirius’ face appeared in the fireplace. Harry smiled, self-consciously running his hand through his hair. “Hi,” he said, praying that his voice didn’t crack. It hadn't.

“Hey,” Sirius’ head replied. He had a small smile on his face, but it didn’t quite seem to meet his eyes.

“Sorry about the letter,” Harry said, settling himself more comfortably on the carpet in front of the fire, “I, err… I fell asleep,” he admitted, which Sirius couldn’t help but laugh at.

“It’s fine. But you were very close to being woken up by a very angry dog.”

“I know. Sorry,” Harry said again.

There was a bit of an awkward pause and Sirius sighed, conflicted. “Okay Harry, here's the thing,” he started, and Harry's heart sank – just from his tone, he could tell this wasn't going to end well, “I'm not good at being an adult.”

Harry blinked, then mumbled, “You're one of the best adults I know.” It was true. How was Sirius even in the same universe as people like the Dursleys? Again Harry found himself thinking back to that night in third year when they'd captured Peter Pettigrew, proving Sirius' innocence, when he was going to move in and live with Sirius, but then the rat escaped their clutches. It left him feeling crushed for so many reasons.

“Well, I suppose what I mean is...” Sirius trailed off, obviously finding this as difficult as Harry, “... when I went to Godfather School to learn how to be a Godfather, they didn't teach me how to prepare for something like this. So I'm kind've in the dark about exactly _what_ to say and _how_ to say it.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe the class about how to tell off your Godson for kissing you was extra-curricular.”

Sirius snorted. “Possibly. I didn't pay much attention anyways.” The weird joke had broken the ice a little, and although still nervous, Harry felt more at ease. He sat more comfortably on the rug. He wasn't fiddling with his socks. He wasn't so on edge that every word was defensive, raw.

“Anyway, I'm not going to sit here and tell you all the reasons why this is a bad idea, because I'm sure you already know all the reasons yourself. And because you are James' son – and I promise you, Harry, that is the last time I will mention his name in this conversation,” Sirius added hastily, seeing Harry frown, “-you will have definitely thought of all sorts of clever little ways of getting around them.”

Harry considered that for a moment with a grin, because that's exactly what he'd done. When he wasn't trying to get a head-start on his Christmas assignments, he'd been going over the rebuttals he'd thought of. He was definitely prepared to defend himself, and any romantic relationship he wanted with Sirius.

“So – the issue I'm having is wanting to talk to you about this like an adult, because you're certainly more mature than you ought to be at your age, but you're not yet an adult. That means I have to be the adult, and I'm not-”

“Sirius, I like you,” Harry interrupted, this time fidgeting with the loose threads on the carpet instead of meeting his Godfather's eye, “and I think the reason you're finding this difficult is because you liked the kiss, and that's tough to come to terms with because of... reasons. I know it sounds really, really childish to say it like that, but that's what I think.” Harry finally looked up, suspense killing him.

Sirius blinked, flames licking around the side of his face. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed he'd somehow tried to tame his hair, that his face was less stubbly than before – but he didn't seem mad.

“... Harry, I still want to be someone you can talk to. Someone you can-”

“You aren't denying it.” A giddy rush of affection, a victorious grin.

A pause, a fond smile. Harry's heart leapt. The fire merrily crackled on. “... someone you can _trust_. We all need to be on our guard. I'm still suspicious about the Triwizard Tournament, because there is no way that your name being in the Goblet of Fire was accidental. Anyone who believes that is delusional.

“But Harry – the most important thing to me is that you're healthy, safe and happy. That hasn't changed. That will _never_ change,” Sirius said softly, so that Harry was straining to hear him over the crackling of the fire.

Harry was glowing from the inside out. He'd never been told such wonderful things before, even by those so-called guardians he had in Little Whinging. And to hear such things from _Sirius_ made everything better. 

The very fact that Sirius was being evasive about their kiss, and where their relationship stood was a positive thing, Harry knew for sure. Perhaps they weren't officially 'going out'. Perhaps it was wrong to tag their relationship. Perhaps all they needed was this read-between-the-lines understanding. For now.

It did concern Harry that they were both so bad at talking about things directly, but he was well aware that as an extremely handsome man, Sirius must have had relationships in his days before Azkaban. It was likely something had made him more secretive and subdued, that the notches in his heart were not only for the friends he'd lost.

For now, this would do. This was enough. 

“I know,” Harry whispered back. 

Sirius grinned.

 


	3. Fourth Year/Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Snuffles write to each other in poor code, and Sirius finds his usual role reversed when he is the one to offer comfort to a Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. I appreciate that this chapter is coming out kinda late (although I never actually established a schedule for updates to this fic), but I've moved house recently and was without proper tech for a while. I wrote this chapter in a surprisingly short amount of time considering how long the gap has been between updates. We'll either have one more, much shorter chapter of Harry's Fourth Year at Hogwarts, or we'll go straight into his Fifth Year - I haven't decided just yet.
> 
> Please note the updated rating and tags to go along with this chapter. I hope that the smut is satisfying and good and all that people want it to be.

The Triwizard Tournament and classes occupied much of Harry's time that year, and frustratingly he found himself free at the same time as his friends – so, naturally, they would ascend the hill to Sirius' cave as a trio and meet with the older wizard. The meetups were, obviously, an exercise in restraint for Harry, who wanted nothing more than to leap into the man's arms and let himself be kissed. He thought about their kiss often, usually when he had some precious alone time in the showers after lessons. Sometimes he would remember it when he saw Draco Malfoy around the school, who continued to wear his POTTER STINKS badge and grin. They kept their distance from each other.

Unfortunately for Harry, as much as he wanted a repeat performance the best he could hope for was a slightly longer, tighter hug than what Ron and Hermione got. Every so often when the others were talking, Harry and Sirius would exchange sly, fleeting looks, and it made Harry's stomach tumble over itself and his heart beat out of time.

When they weren't meeting each other, Harry was writing to Sirius. He would send rolls of extra parchment with jars of jet black ink that glistened prettily on the page, even when dry. He sent along a small batch of quills he bought from _Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop_ in Hogsmeade, including a beautiful black and white eagle quill, which Sirius refused to accept as a gift on the grounds of it being 'too nice for him'. He and Harry had made it into a game, seeing who would give in first or who could best disguise it as a boring, normal quill by hiding it amongst school supplies. Harry had attracted a lot of attention in the Gryffindor Common Room when Sirius sent him a bottle of Firewhisky, only for Harry to choke after attempting to drink it, spitting out the feather with a fair amount of gagging and spluttering.

_Were you testing my gag reflex?_ Harry had written after that episode. Sirius made no comment on the matter, although his letters were not totally clean and innocent, so Harry made sure to read them privately once every one else had gone to bed.

_It's unfortunate that Messrs Popper and Weasington choked during Professor Snoop's lesson,_ he wrote on one occasion,  _although I am glad to hear it was only a potion you were choking on in those dungeons._

Then, after the second Triwizard Tournament trial, _You should've taken Hermione up, maybe you'd have gotten a kiss from Krum._

Harry knew that Sirius was holding back, and probably with good reason. It was always him who replied with the more outrageous comments, using more direct language – Sirius never went too far. It was quite the exercise in restraint for the usually forthcoming Marauder – because he had never, ever held back with James. That had perhaps been the reason for his downfall.

*

_The night of Sirius' banishment_

Sixteen-year-old Sirius stopped running at the junction with Simmons Lane, his panting from fear rather than exertion. He wildly scanned number 12 Grimmauld Place for signs of life, relaxing when he saw no movement or other signs of life.

Then, the world lit up around him, an _incendio_ hurled his way. Reflexively he threw his rucksack into the flames, and began to run. He ran harder than he ever had before, casting protection spells as fast as he could, spells skittering across the pavement. Adrenaline and fear pushed him onward, his chest raw with the exertion of running and the events of the evening. His legs were screaming in complaint, but he kept going until he couldn't hear any more spells, and even then he kept on going.

Eventually though, he had to stop, body drenched in sweat, exhausted. Sirius looked around, a hand carding through long, loose hair.

He was in an unfamiliar part of London, although still in a residential area. He collapsed onto the bench next to the Muggle bus stop, gasping as he tried to refill his lungs with air. His rucksack was a singed mess beside him, and Sirius glared at it – some good that effort had been.

It was a bad idea to stay still. Walburga was frenzied, a berserker after banishing her eldest son. Nothing was off the cards and Sirius knew it, so he did the only thing he could think to do, the only thing he knew he could do to stay safe. He summoned the Knight Bus, muttering “The Potter's house,” as he boarded. The least protection he could have was from two fully-grown wizards and his best mate.

Fifteen minutes later saw Sirius staggering off the bus, still clutching his charred backpack between the hand that wasn't still holding his wand. The entire journey had been a frantic one, even for the Knight Bus – he wasn't entirely convinced his mother would let him escape so easily. With relief he saw that the lights were on in the Potter household, and with that little triumph he knocked on the door. He saw a familiar shape approaching through the glass, and his heart leapt despite the shock and emptiness in his stomach.

“You're back early – Sirius!” James exclaimed, switching from dismissive to surprised in less than a second. He frowned. “You look like shit,” he said, taking in Sirius' haggard, windswept appearance.

Sirius blinked. “Thanks mate,” he replied with an eye-roll, pushing his way past his best friend. Although it was summer, this was a British summer, and as his sweat had cooled the night had begun to feel awfully chilly. He raked his fingers through his hair as he went past the mirror in the hallway, realising he actually did look terrible. He toed his shoes off and tried to avoid shedding too much charred backpack onto the floor, to little effect. James shut the door behind them, and they walked together into the living room.

The Potter household was the antithesis to Grimmauld Place. Whilst the Ancient and Noble Family of Black had crammed every space with darkness and even darker magical artifacts, the Potters had embraced light and freedom of movement. Instead of a tapestry of the family ancestors – which Sirius realised would no longer include him – the Potters had covered their walls with smiling photographs of friends and family. Baby and five-year-old James smiled and giggled at Sirius, whilst the real James stared at his friend in bewilderment. Eventually, the Chaser shrugged and sat himself back down on the sofa.

“Wanna talk about it?” Although his tone was casual, James was being completely serious. They'd been through this together enough times since befriending each other on the Hogwarts Express, and skirting around the topic wouldn't do either of them any good. Not knowing quite what to say or where to start, Sirius joined his fellow Marauder on the sofa, pressing himself against the other with a sigh, his arm wrapping around James'. He gave himself a few moments to relax, to inhale the scent of James' freshly-washed hair, to feel the warmth of his body, to enjoy their closeness. He took a few bracing, deep breaths.

“She wanted me to use an _Unforgivable_... on _him_.”

James immediately turned to look at him. “No she didn't,” he said, disbelievingly. Sirius nodded.

“She did,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the TV. He wasn't watching. How could he? In one evening he had lost almost everything, and he didn't know what to do about it. He was certain he was shaking but couldn't think of how to stop, or what would happen to him if he stopped.

A moment's silence.

“... Did you do it?”

“Of course not!” Sirius exclaimed, glaring at the TV, “Wouldn't be here if I had, would I?”

James sighed, running his free hand through his hair. It was, as usual, a mess. “Suppose not.” He reached across himself and held Sirius' hand and squeezed. He felt more than saw Sirius' grim smile. “And?” He asked after a while, and this time Sirius bit his lip, his trembling intensifying. James was about to ask him if he was cold, when he heard it – so quiet, nothing more than a whisper, and it felt as if his stomach had fallen through the floor.

“She exiled me.”

For a minute, neither of them said anything. Then, James disentangled their fingers, reaching for the remote. In a fizz of electricity, the TV switched off. He pushed himself away from the shaking mess he'd welcomed into his home - into his _life_ \- and really looked at him. Sirius wasn't meeting his eyes, and he looked tired, pale – much like Moony after a bad Full Moon.

“She exiled you,” he repeated, and Sirius nodded, fingering a loose thread on the sofa.

“I'm a rubbish Black,” he said quietly, “I wasn't willing to do what she wanted. I make friends with werewolves and Mudbloods and half-bloods. I'm a disgrace to the Pure-Blood community, and I'm a disgrace to the name Black. I'm a Gryffindor. I'm gay. I'm crap at the Dark Arts and Potions. So I got kicked out. She said she'll cut me off. No money, no inheritance, nothing. I don't want their money, I don't want their things, I don't want anything. I don't want to be like them. I'm _proud_ to not be like them. But...” Sirius finally looked up at James, and tears were pooling in his eyes. He looked and felt vulnerable, his brow creased, his lip trembling.

Without saying a word, James pulled Sirius into a hug, and let his best friend cry. He was too proud, too much of a Gryffindor to sob openly and aloud, so the occasional hiccup broke through the tension like the crack of a whip.

“Who's going to look after him, after Reg-”

“That's not your job anymore.”

“It's on him now, they'll make him do terrible things, awful things-”

“He has a good head on his shoulders for a Slytherin, he'll be alright.”

“I never want to go back there, ever again-”

“I know. You don't have to. You're free.”

Sirius buried his face deeper into James' shoulder and bit down to hold in his sobs. It hurt, but James didn't utter a single sound, not even a whimper. He was going to be the brave one, the supportive friend that Sirius needed. He had to be. He did all the things he knew to get Sirius to calm himself and be still: like playing with his hair, rubbing his back and shushing soothingly in his ear. This wasn't the first time they'd done this. James was appalled that Sirius was effectively orphaned, stripped of all inheritance and titles, although he couldn't say he was surprised. He said none of this, of course – what good would it do?

They stayed on the sofa like that for a long time, and James was beginning to wonder whether his parents were going to return home soon when they finally parted. Sirius' face was a little flushed from where he'd been pressing into James, his cheeks sticky and damp. His eyes were bright in the low light of the living room where he'd enjoyed many a moment with James and his family. His hair was disheveled from his escape and from James' ministrations.

Despite the life-changing events that had taken place, the atmosphere was shifting. They were both aware of it, and neither one of them sensible enough to stop it.

“How d'you feel tonight?” James asked, and Sirius stirred. That was their code word at Hogwarts, when they were around the other boys. That was when they knew the other one wanted something, wanted to do things perhaps even the other Gryffindors would want to beat them up for.

“... Tired,” Sirius admitted, and he looked it. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, but his sixteen-year-old body was reacting to their little secret phrase, and he stretched, feigning nonchalance. “I just want to forget about everything that's happened,” he added, to make himself clear.

James' mouth twitched at the corners for the slightest moment. Victory.

“Do you... want me to help you forget?” James asked, barely above a whisper. Sirius' eyes flicked up, then down again. He nodded, once.

“Yes,” he said quietly, but James had already started moving towards him. Their lips met tentatively at first, gentle to begin with, then with more heat and passion as their bodies realised how long they'd been apart. James kept a hand around the back of Sirius' neck to hold him still, ignoring the wetness of the kiss from Sirius' tears. Slowly Sirius snaked his hands around his middle, dragging their bodies closer until they met. James climbed on top of Sirius, growling.

“I'll make you forget,” he whispered against Sirius' neck. The other shivered, arching his hips involuntarily. James ground his own hips down against Sirius' growing erection, spurred on by the encouraging hands groping his arse. They groaned into each other's mouths as the first buds of pleasure began to bloom, hands scrabbling to reach parts that hadn't been touched in long weeks.

“Bedroom, _now_ ,” James commanded. Sirius whimpered at the loss of contact as James tore himself away, following the order. He raced up the stairs, James pushing him even faster with slaps to his buttocks, and as soon as the bedroom door slammed closed they were on each other again, kissing and licking and nipping at each other's lips. They pushed each other onto the bed, Sirius immediately wrapping his legs around James' waist to bring him closer, to rub and grind their clothed cocks together.

“You can be as loud as you want,” James moaned into Sirius' ear, making Sirius squirm and shiver beneath him, rubbing their cocks together deliciously, “no need for wards tonight.”

“Fuck,” was all Sirius could manage, James' teeth dragging and pulling down his neck, “fuck, James-”he whined. James chuckled against his neck and the vibrations pulled another long moan from Sirius, the sound making James' cock twitch impatiently.

“You're so needy,” James crooned, teasingly. They always played this game, but tonight was about Sirius. He pushed Sirius' shirt up and his jeans down, and then the boxers. His cock sprang free, already hard and wet. James nuzzled the dick against his cheek, and Sirius let out another sob. On any other day, James would have made him _beg_ for it, the choked words flushing Sirius' face and the satisfaction of it all making them both painfully hard. But not tonight.

He took Sirius into his mouth without the theatrics, grinning at the surprised gasp. Sirius pushed his fingers through James' hair and gripped it, knocking his glasses askew – he all-but tore them off his face. He sucked around the head of the weeping cock, lapping at the underside greedily. Then he took him in deeper, sucking and keeping his lips tight. The sucking and slurping noises were obscene, but the noises Sirius was making were heavenly. James scraped his teeth gently against the over-sensitive head, and the mix of sensations was pleasurable torture for his fellow Gryffindor. He reached for his wand as his tongue darted out to tease even more.

“ _Scourgify_ ,” James muttered around Sirius' cock, then a quick lubrication spell. He pressed a soaked finger against Sirius' entrance.

“Can't be-believe that still – ah! - worked,” Sirius gasped out. James' finger pressed harder, but still didn't enter his arse, and he was aching for it. He was about to complain when James finally pushed his finger inside, sinking all the way down to the knuckle. Sirius groaned, adjusting to the feeling just in time for James' second finger, which began rubbing against his prostate immediately. Sirius cried out, squeezing his eyes shut to focus solely on the pleasure building inside him.

“You love this,” James mumbled against the head of Sirius' cock, his lips rubbing against the flushed skin with every word, “you can't get enough of me sucking your cock and fingering your arse.”

“I can't-” Sirius sobbed in response, getting closer.

James smirked, triumphantly. Then, he took Sirius' cock back into his mouth, as far as he could go. The sudden sensation sent Sirius hurtling towards his orgasm, a fractured cry disturbing the peace as he shot spurt after spurt of hot cum into James' waiting mouth. He clenched and pulsed around James' fingers, who kept on rubbing the same spot lazily until Sirius was a twitching, pathetic mess.

Sirius kept his eyes shut for a while as he came down from his high, overloaded. He felt James' eyes watching him, knew he'd be staring at him with a mix of pride and pleasure. He whimpered, clenching around nothing as James slowly withdrew his fingers. A moment later, the weight on the bed shifted and Sirius opened his eyes, James' resettling himself at Sirius' entrance.

“You loved that,” James said, confidently, arrogantly. Sometimes Sirius would wind him up, tell him it was crap and he'd faked it somehow. But he was so weak from the strength of his orgasm and the night's events that he couldn't say or do anything except get taken by James' dick. Slowly the other boy pushed inside him, and he let himself be filled.

“I did,” Sirius admitted in a whisper, suddenly conscious of the noise he'd been making. That was who James was – he needed his ego-stroking like most people needed to breathe. He let James pull one of his legs up and onto his shoulder, the stretch and burn of the cock inside him reviving his erection between them. James wordlessly began to tug until Sirius had completely re-hardened, then began snapping his hips forwards more forcefully. Every thrust hit his prostate, and it wracked sob-like moans from the man. It was edging on the wrong side of being too much, but he was too wrung out to object or complain.

“You're so fucking tight,” James growled against Sirius' neck, his cock and hand moving at an unforgivable pace. Sirius' body was ablaze from the sensation, but he didn't – couldn't – pull away. He just whined, squeezing his eyes shut against everything he was feeling.

One thrust more, and James stilled. Then a frantic hiss, “Gonna cum,” and he fucked Sirius hard and raw, his cum shooting inside Sirius' ass. Sirius cried out and let himself fall over the edge again, cum dripping feebly out of his cock and onto his stomach. James collapsed on top of Sirius, and despite the sweat Sirius wrapped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his sex-flushed face.

“Thanks,” he mumbled against the cheek. James managed a laugh, cock twitching inside him.

“Any time,” he replied, and began to pull out. Once he was free he had the sense to collapse onto the bed and not on Sirius, wriggling his wand out from under him to cast a quick _Tergeo_. Sirius' stomach was still a little sticky with cum, an indication that James was too exhausted to cast properly. He grabbed his own wand and performed his own cleaning spell, which got rid of the last of it.

Now that the sex was over, Sirius' chest was beginning to hurt again, but as he looked over at James' resting form he couldn't help but smile and scoot closer, resting his head on his mate's shoulder. The pain and anxiety inside him swept away, replaced by another feeling he'd never quite managed to name before. It felt like affection, like adoration, like a desire to be as close as possible to the other. He never said anything about it, but peppered James' shoulder with small kisses. James acknowledged the kisses with a sleepy sigh.

“Should put some clothes on. Mum and Dad will be back soon,” he said, although his eyes stayed closed. Sirius sighed more than huffed, dragging himself around until he found enough clothes to pull on to be considered 'decent' if either Fleamont or Euphemia disturbed them in the morning. James still had his eyes closed, and the ineffable feeling surged and swelled inside Sirius' chest again. He opened his mouth to vocalise it somehow, to give a name to that unnameable feeling, that forbidden word that would change everything between them.

“'Night,” he whispered instead.

*

_Day of the Third Triwizard Tournament Trial_

McGonagall glanced along the row, irritated at the sudden buzz of activity, and Padfoot nervously circled, pawing at the row of chairs between them. The Head of Gryffindor shot the Animagus a look of disbelief, but before he could cower and slink off she motioned for him to come over and sit beside her. She patted the chair beside her twice, and Padfoot jumped up obligingly. His coat was glossier than it had been during Harry's second Triwizard Trial, she observed, and his ribs less prominent. Still, McGonagall needed to have her say.

“You've got some bloody nerve, charming your way up here,” she hissed, gesturing to the seats, “I did extra duties for _weeks_ to get Filius to exchange his seats with me.”

Padfoot considered this with thoughtful eyes, nudging McGonagall's arm in thanks. The Professor sighed, hauling him closer as Professor Trelawney scooted past them to her seat.

“Just be grateful I told no one about your abilities as an Animagus, Sirius, or you'd be in deep trouble,” she said in a whisper, but Padfoot could still hear. Padfoot was good at listening. People told him so. Harry told him so. He was a good boy.

McGonagall knew it too, but she would never say.

*

Having Bill and Molly Weasley as a substitute family hadn't been so bad. Bill had been rather funny, and despite Molly's tendency to coddle Harry, she did it out of the goodness of her heart; it was hard to stay annoyed at her for genuinely caring for his well-being and safety. Still, when Harry stepped out into the arena alongside the other Triwizard Champions, his eyes searched the spectator stands for a familiar, shaggy dog. He grinned when he saw McGonagall with Padfoot all-but sitting in her lap, the Transfigurations professor's stern face twitching. When she wasn't trying to calm the excited dog in her lap, she looked somewhat proud. Harry gave a thumbs-up to them before turning away to listen to Professor Dumbledore.

*

Harry and Cedric slammed into the ground. The impact should have hurt, but it didn't. Harry clutched Cedric's shirt harder, burying his face in the cloth to hide his blood and tears. Time was clearly moving slower, because people were celebrating, and there was nothing to be celebrated. The cheers and yells around him sounded dull and distant, Fleur's scream briefly piercing through the fuzz. Someone had finally realised that something was wrong. He sobbed into Cedric as if his tears could restore life, but they couldn't.

Then, everything was too loud, the screams of the crowd like a roar in Harry's ears. The hands pulling him away felt like claws tearing at him, and although Harry did his best, it was still not enough. He watched through tear-filled eyes as Cedric's dead body was swamped with people, with Amos Diggery howling and crying, and let himself be dragged away. He only took his eyes away from where the Hufflepuff lay when Moody hauled him away from the Quidditch pitch.

He didn't even think to look up to where McGonagall stood, Padfoot beside her. The Animagus stood perfectly still. Then, without warning, he bolted. McGonagall yelled after him, her hand clutching at nothing as she tried to keep the beast under control, but Padfoot was too fast for her. He forced his way through the chaos and confusion, the cries and sobs around him formed into one warbled sound of sorrow.

_Harry_ .

*

Harry was shaking. He tried to sit on the chair opposite Dumbledore's, but couldn't keep still. He started to pace. His mind was whirring with a thousand thoughts a minute. Everything had happened so quickly.

_Voldemort is back. Cedric is dead. Moody is an imposter. Cedric is dead. Voldemort is back._

It was unsurprising given his state of mind that he did nothing when he saw Sirius enter the Headmaster's office alongside Dumbledore himself. Sirius tried to school his face, but couldn't help his quiet gasp as he saw his Godson up close.

Harry was a wreck. Blood and mud dirtied his face, tear-tracks cleansing the skin to reveal the paleness beneath. He was chewing his fingernails, ignoring the grime, and he looked so woebegone Sirius couldn't help but think of a little boy, lost and bewildered by the disappearance of his mum.

When Harry's mind did catch up to current events, he launched himself at Sirius. Immediately Sirius wrapped his arms around the boy, letting his chest absorb the sobs, a hand cradling the boy's head. He squeezed his eyes shut as Harry let loose, swaying him in a way he hoped was comforting. He cast a quick glance at Dumbledore, who had already settled behind his desk, head resting on his intertwined fingers.

“Harry...” the Professor began. Sirius shook his head, firmly.

“No. He's had enough for one day. He needs rest.” He glared at the most powerful man in the wizarding world, face half-buried in Harry's hair.

Dumbledore nodded once in acknowledgement. “I agree, Sirius. The boy does need rest. But do you think Voldemort will rest, now that he's back? The sooner we know the full picture, the sooner we can rebuild, start reforming, start planning.” His twinkling blue eyes were full of meaning, and Sirius was torn between hailing him as a hero for wanting to build up the Order again, and strangling him for Harry's sake. The teen was still shaking, although his sobs were less audible. Neither one of them had let go of the other. In the back of Sirius' mind, he was jumping for joy at the human contact, for the _Harry_ contact, but he couldn't be the vulnerable one. He couldn't be broken and damaged from years in Azkaban and the loss of his friends. He had to be the strong one. And clearly Dumbledore was waiting for him to calm Harry enough to the point where they could learn the full story of that night.

Gently and slowly, Sirius began steering Harry towards the lone seat opposite the Headmaster. Harry clung on to him even tighter. “Don't go,” he whispered, and Sirius felt the words settle like a dead weight in his chest. They hurt.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he mumbled back, backing Harry's legs against the chair so that he would sit. He hated himself for breaking contact, so he knelt in front of his Godson for a moment or two, ignoring Dumbledore's likely impatience. He brushed the wild, sticky hair from out of Harry's face, the pain in his chest migrating to his throat as he saw those big green eyes reflecting shock, anger and self-blame. He swallowed the lump away, forcing a reassuring smile.

“I'm staying right here, Harry. I'm not going to leave you,” he whispered. Harry didn't say anything, but he desperately reached out for Sirius' hand and _clung_. He watched as his Godfather squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, only letting him stand when he kept hold of him. Sirius' hand was large, warm, clean.

Harry felt small, cold and dirty.

As Harry began to relay the events of the evening to his Professor and Godfather, he felt as if he were floating, somehow in control of his body but unable to inhabit it. The only thing that kept him grounded was the tightness of Sirius' grip. He faltered when he croaked out his parents' names, and the tears that slipped out from Sirius' eyes went unnoticed. The older wizard blinked rapidly, forcing his own sobs back inside. He'd grieved Lily and James every day since their death, and yet to hear something so quintessentially _them_ come out from Harry's mouth was a punch to the gut. It was like losing them all over again. He wanted to rage, to run and Hex the first thing he saw, to fight – so he rubbed his thumb over Harry's hand, smearing the mess around but never cleaning it off entirely. That was fine. They could be a mess together.

But what was not fine was how Harry was hurting, how Harry might never be the same again. He might be a mess forever too. Just like him. And that wasn't fair.

Dumbledore was talking. Finally, he was saying something. Sirius brought himself back to the present moment, bringing himself to stand behind Harry, his free hand resting on the teen's shoulder.

“It is finally time to let you get some rest, Harry,” the sorcerer was saying. Harry nodded, words failing him. He felt that even if he never uttered another word again he'd be happy. His throat was raw from screaming and crying and talking. Dumbledore fixed his gaze on Sirius.

“Come with us, Sirius. I think Harry needs some help from his Godfather.” Harry nodded in agreement, and Sirius couldn't help but smile, but it was a sad smile. He transformed into Padfoot, circling around the chair so that Harry could run his fingers through his fur, so that they could still be connected. Harry was sad. Touching was good. The smell of blood was strong. There was a lot of blood smell. A lot of blood and sweat and crying smell. Padfoot whined, and off they went together.

The route to the hospital wing was a sadly familiar one for them all at this point. After reassuring Madam Pomfrey that Padfoot was a good boy, Dumbledore arranged for Harry to take a drought of Sleeping Potion. Padfoot's snout twitched. It smelt like lavender. Harry hesitated upon taking the bottle, unstopping the potion with a grimy thumb. Padfoot instinctively jumped up onto the bed, ready to bristle and growl if he was told to get down, but nobody stopped him or pushed him off. Harry scratched under the dog's chin automatically. Padfoot licked the hand. It didn't matter if it was dirty or there was blood or sweat. It was okay.

Padfoot nudged his way up alongside Harry's body in the bed as he swigged the potion, so exhausted he fell asleep before finishing the lot. Padfoot rested his head on Harry's shoulder, watching carefully as Dumbledore gently prised the bottle from his hands, examining how much was left with a keen eye. Weathered hands carefully placed the solution onto the nearby bedside table.

Then the old, revered professor looked down at the dog and smiled.

“You've grown into a wonderful man, Sirius Black,” he said tiredly, genuinely.

Padfoot's ear twitched in response.

 


	4. Fifth Year - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has the worst summer of his life, but it gets better when he finally gets to see Sirius again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm really really sorry for the huge delay between chapters. I've had a lot going on in my personal life, including house moves (multiple) and mental health issues (also multiple). However, I am feeling stable and good enough to begin writing again, and whilst I can't promise anything in terms of regularity in updates, know that I think about this fanfic every day and am constantly adding to the story and world in my head.
> 
> Regarding this chapter, I'd like to remind you that this is going to be slightly AU, in that Sirius lives, and that I've taken some liberties with the exact events and truths in the books. I never claimed I was going to be exactly following Rowling's story, so please keep that in mind. Also please note the ratings and the fact that I am jumping between time periods within the story itself.
> 
> I hope with all that being said that you continue to enjoy and support this story - thanks to everyone who is reading this - and please leave a review or a kudos at the very least if you enjoyed it =]

_The Great Hall, the first day of term_

“- ABSOLUTE WASTE OF SPACE-”

Sirius chewed his toast thoughtfully, as if the Howler wasn't directed at him. He ignored the stares of his classmates, totally unflustered. He even shot a wink at a rather attractive Hufflepuff, who immediately cast his gaze aside and shut his mouth tightly.

The rant continued.

“- AND DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT THE FAMILY VAULT-”

“Pass us the jam, Moony,” Sirius said casually, dolloping more of the stuff onto his porridge. Remus stared openly at him, baffled. Peter stuffed his hands over his ears as the tirade from Mrs Black continued. Their fellow Gryffindors grimaced but couldn't tear their eyes away from the spectacle before them, transfixed by Sirius' car-crash start to the term.

“- CONSIDER YOURSELF PERMANENTLY BANISHED FROM THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK.” Finally, the Howler exploded in a spectacular display of flames.

Sirius flicked an errant ember from his breakfast with a perfectly painted fingernail.

“Right,” he said, looking around at his fellow Gryffindors seriously, “who else has Double Potions first thing on Mondays?”

Remus shifted on the wooden bench uncomfortably. “Sirius-”

“Because I'm _fairly_ certain that's against our Human Rights – oi, McGonagall!” Sirius shouted, turning in his seat. The Transfigurations professor was staring at him, shocked, although her expression became stern as the teen continued, “Who's in charge of writing this thing?!” He demanded, shaking the parchment with his timetable written on it, “This is inhumane!”

Professor McGonagall descended from the Head table and approached the Marauders, bringing along a goblet full of what smelled to James suspiciously like the strongest coffee Hogwarts had to offer.

“What _is_ inhumane, Mr Black,” the professor said, casting a firm eye across the four of them, “is being unable to finish one's breakfast in peace because of rowdy sixth years, and on the first day of term, no less.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and folded his arms, throwing the piece of parchment onto the table. “I'm writing to the Minister of Magic on behalf of us students,” he grumbled, and McGonagall gestured to the lump of ash that had accumulated on the table due to the Howler.

“Anything I should be aware of, Mr Black?” she asked, taking another sip of her coffee. Although she still looked stern and foreboding, James was certain he could see a hint of concern in her eyes.

“Not at all, Professor,” Sirius replied, elbowing James in the ribs before he could say anything, “not at all.”

*

_The Great Hall, the second day of term_

The entire student body fell silent yet again as Sirius received another Howler from his mother. The black-haired beauty refused to acknowledge that anything unusual was happening, casually reading Remus' newspaper that he'd appropriated earlier that morning.

“- I HOPE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO THIS FAMILY-”

Instead of the usual giggles that accompanied a student being sent a Howler, many of the students were watching Sirius' face cautiously, confused that he'd been unfortunate enough to be sent two in as many days. What could he have done wrong to warrant such a strong punishment? And why was Regulus Black glaring wordlessly at his own breakfast at the Slytherin table, ignoring the gestures and pointing of his classmates and closest friends?

“- CONSTANT DISAPPOINTMENT SINCE YOU WERE SORTED INTO GRYFFINDOR -”

“Tea or coffee?” James bellowed at Sirius from across the table, gesturing to the pot that had magically refilled after he'd poured himself a cup.

“Tea,” Sirius yelled back, offering his empty mug to his best friend. James gladly poured him some strong tea, a grim look on his face.

“- EMBARRASSMENT TO THE PURE-BLOOD COMMUNITY -”

“My God, have you seen this? ' _Confidence in the Ministry at its lowest since polls began after latest gaffe'_ , dearie me,” Sirius read aloud from the newspaper, shaking his head in disbelief and tutting. Again, Remus shot his friend a concerned look, and Peter scrunched up his face in disapproval, but nobody said a word until Walburga completed her pre-recorded tirade and dissolved into a smouldering pile of ash on the table.

Sirius casually wiped the mess aside and continued eating his breakfast.

Later that day, in Transfigurations, Professor McGonagall stopped by his desk, and asked again if there was anything he'd like to share. Again, Sirius said nothing, shooting his most charming smile at the witch as he replied. The Professor frowned, hardly convinced, but could do no more.

*

_Number 4 Privet Drive_

Harry was sat in his bed, reading his most recent letter from Sirius by torchlight. He'd waited all day to be free to read it, and was disappointed.

_I do ask that you put your faith into Dumbledore -_

'Right', Harry thought to himself with a pang of annoyance, 'because he has the answer to everything, doesn't he?' He glared back down again at the letter from Sirius, reading on.

_\- and if not in him, then put your faith in_ me _._

At that, Harry started, guiltily. He had been lonely and questioning everything this summer – his friendship with Hermione and Ron, and even his relationship with Sirius. What were friends that failed to communicate? What _were_ him and Sirius, exactly? They hadn't exactly had time for a heart-to-heart after the Dementors kissed Barty Crouch Junior, when Dumbledore had ordered Sirius to transform publicly and make amends with Snape.

Harry sighed, ignoring Hedwig's baleful hooting for another night as he threw the letter aside and pulled the covers over his head, frustrated and annoyed for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

*

_The Headmaster's office_

It wasn't the first time Sirius had been in the Headmaster's office, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. His first visit had been during his first year, when he and James had thrown Dungbombs into the Library and barred the exits with a simple locking charm. He was later sent to the elderly Headmaster for offences including blowing up a toilet, trying to use a broomstick to bypass the charms disallowing boys from entering the girls' dormitories, and for replacing the shampoo in the Slytherin's changing rooms with mashed mealworms. However, he had been relatively well-behaved thus far, and so he threw himself into the vacant chair irritably. He glared around the at various magical knick-knacks that cluttered the office, too annoyed to consider examining or destroying anything.

After a short while, Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore emerged from the inner part of the sprawling office, both with grave looks on their faces. Sirius said nothing, softening his face a little.

“Good afternoon, Sirius,” Professor Dumbledore began, settling himself comfortably into his chair. He wore a set of wonderful red robes with a crescent moon pattern that matched his spectacles.

Sirius remembered his manners. “Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall,” he said, nodding to each of them in turn before casting his gaze back towards the floor.

The Transfigurations Professor cleared her throat. “I expect you're wondering why we asked you here, because surprisingly your conduct has been good so far this year,” she said.

Sirius shrugged. “There's time for that,” he said, inspecting his fingernails pointedly. They were painted black and had been since his return to Hogwarts last week. Although his teachers had ordered him to remove it, docking points from Gryffindor, the Muggle topcoat and permanent sticking charms he'd used had made the varnish damn-near impossible to remove.

Mcgonagall frowned, and Dumbledore chuckled. He gently pulled Sirius' hand closer to his face to inspect the teen's handiwork. Sirius did not retract his hand, but did stare at his Headteacher in disbelief.

“Brew it as a potion, and you have yourself a business,” the wizard said eventually, returning Sirius' hand to him. Sirius checked he had gained no chips since the inspection.

“Only thing is I'm absolutely shi – sorry, rubbish at Potions,” he confessed, almost swearing. Dumbledore smiled at him for a moment longer, whilst McGonagall looked like she wanted to throttle him.

“It is our duty to take care of our students, Sirius,” Dumbledore said, “and that is a responsibility we all take very, very seriously. So we sometimes must make decisions which ultimately benefit our students, but may otherwise infringe upon certain rights.”

“Like detention,” Sirius interrupted. Dumbledore tilted his head to one side as if seriously contemplating what had been said before shaking his head.

“That is merely to secure the safety and sanity of your classmates and teachers – especially your Head of House,” he added, nodding at McGonagall. She seemed to be watching Sirius closely.

“We're all aware, Sirius, of the Howlers you've been receiving this year-”

“Thank Merlin they've stopped! The old bitch was giving me a headache.”

“Five points from Gryffindor for swearing.”

“I said 'witch!'”

McGonagall glared at Sirius. “Five more points for lying to your Head of House, and ten points for lying in front of the Headmaster.” Sirius threw his hands up in the air dramatically, but said nothing. House points didn't really matter to him anyway. The more he could lose, the better. Points were pointless.

McGonagall continued. “... The Howlers, Black. They never stopped.”

Sirius blinked, confused. His heart stopped. The office was quiet and still. “What?” he asked.

McGonagall shot him a sympathetic look, and Dumbledore continued. “After you received two Howlers within the first two days of your return to Hogwarts, we decided to start intercepting your mail. We thought it would do well to protect you.” The old man explained, lacing his fingers together. “You have received a Howler every single day from your mother since you came back to Hogwarts, Sirius.”

Sirius swallowed and averted his gaze. He didn't want to share anything with them. He liked his Head of House and the Headmaster – respected them, even – but he was not yet ready to share the story of his summer holidays with anyone else but James. Not even Remus or Peter knew the full story yet, and Sirius felt like his best friends deserved to know about his current situation more so than his teachers.

“I've asked before, Sirius,” McGonagall said, for once using Sirius' first name. She spoke gently and rested a hand on the teen's shoulder, “but if there's something you need to tell us, you know you can. We understand that your mother-” for a moment, her nostrils flared, “- _disapproves_ of the break in tradition your Sorting represents, but clearly something else has enraged her. We care about your safety and life outside of the castle walls, you know.”

Sirius kept his eyes to the floor and continued to say nothing. He hid partially behind his loose hair, not wanting to betray anything.

“Would it be best if one of us were to leave?” Dumbledore asked, watching Sirius calmly. The teen was clearly uncomfortable, and didn't raise his gaze as he shook his head 'no'.

Silence fell between them once more. Anxiety swirled in Sirius' gut, and he fought the urge to chew his lip, to fiddle with his hands, to otherwise indicate his discomfort. McGonagall's hand had still not left his shoulder.

Eventually, Dumbledore cleared his throat, and McGonagall's hand fell. “Very well then. We shall continue to intercept your mail and will forward anything on to you that is not able to cause you harm.”

Sirius nodded to show he understood, but didn't say anything.

*

_Number 12, Grimmauld Place_

“Harry, we wanted to, honestly-”

“If you'd wanted to, you'd have done something.”

“Harry, please, this hasn't been easy for us either-”

“Oh, yeah!” Harry's eyes flashed angrily, the sight so unlike him Hermione actually took a step back, frightened, “Yeah! Must be _so_ difficult for you lot, living in a house where you can perform underage magic, getting to learn every little detail about the Wizarding world, not having _nightmares_ every night about the fact that Voldemort's back and Cedric's dead. Yeah, you're right, Hermione, you've had it so easy.” Harry snapped, sarcasm and frustration overflowing.

Ron tried to defend her, which was definitely the wrong thing to do at that moment in time. “Look, it's not her fault, we're just doing what we've been told-”

“Yeah, because we _always_ follow the rules, right? We've never brewed Polyjuice potion in a disused bathroom before! Or snuck out after hours to visit Hagrid! Or used an Invisibility Cloak! Yeah, we're _so_ _good_ , always following the rules, us three-”

“Harry!” Hermione cried, tears welling in her eyes. The sight almost made Harry relent a little, but now that he'd started it was difficult to stop, like trying to stop a flood with a bucket.

“You're just-” Harry wrung his hands as he struggled to find the words, “-so fucking clueless. Both of you. Absolutely _clueless_.” With that, he barged through them and stomped up the staircase, blinded by rage. He ignored their pleas for him to come back, to calm down – his blood was roaring in his ears, and he wanted to punch something.

Seeing as this was his first visit to Grimmauld Place, Harry had no idea where he was going. He stormed past any rooms with movement or habitable living conditions until he found a disused study. He hastily cast a locking charm on the door, and threw himself onto a ragged, ancient sofa. Clouds of dust billowed up from underneath him, but Harry didn't care. His chest was heaving, and he gripped his hair in his hands and pulled, hard.

They just didn't get it, did they? They couldn't comprehend what it was like to live in the dark all summer long, especially after the traumatic finale to his fourth year at Hogwarts. Harry ran his hands through his hair and covered his eyes, squeezing them shut as if to block out the real world, but of course the world remained stubbornly where it was. His mind was ablaze with images of Cedric, staring blankly ahead when he'd died: of being totally alone and cut off over the summer: of Lord Voldemort's triumph as he regained a physical form.

He sat like that for a while, not really caring to move or adjust himself, when he heard footsteps approaching the study door. He tensed up as the door unlocked itself with a click. Harry glanced over, ready to spit acid, but instead sat open-mouthed in shock.

It was Sirius. He looked well but worried, his long hair tied loosely back in a ponytail. He was wearing a hybrid of Muggle and Wizards clothes, the cuts and shapes Muggle and the prints decidedly Magical. A proper bed and food had clearly done him well, as he looked as handsome as Harry had ever seen him, and it was impossible to frown. In fact, it was as if the mere sight of the other man had Harry abandon his sulking in an instant. He rose from the dusty, dirty sofa and launched himself at his godfather.

“Sirius!” he gasped, holding him tightly around his middle. They staggered backwards together, before Sirius righted them both with a strong, reassuring grip. “I missed you,” Harry confessed, the words easier to say with his face buried in the other man's shoulder.

Sirius chuckled. “I missed you too. Although this wasn't exactly the greeting I was expecting.”

Harry pulled back immediately to study Sirius' face. “Why?”

Sirius smiled patiently. “I heard about what happened with Ron and Hermione,” he said gently. A rush of guilt and shame swept through Harry, before his heart hardened again.

“They ignored me-”

“They did no such thing,” Sirius interrupted softly, running a hand through Harry's messy locks, “they talked about you every single day, I promise you. And more than once they were caught trying to sneak out a letter to you.”

Harry deflated a little. He averted Sirius' gaze and his shame came back. He had been terribly, irrationally angry at his best friends, and he knew he needed to make amends, but…

“I’ve been almost completely alone, Sirius. If it hadn’t been for your letters, I’d have had nobody.”

Sirius grimaced. “I wasn’t meant to send you those, either. Dumbledore’s orders.” Harry rolled his eyes, his irritation returning briefly.

“This was the one time,” he started quietly, staring at the floor, “the _one_ time when I really, really needed them. They're supposed to be my best friends. It’s…” Harry hesitated, searching for the right words, “… been really difficult,” he finished, disappointed. He couldn’t exactly articulate how he felt and what his thoughts were, and that frustrated him. He hadn’t exactly been able to show displeasure or unhappiness during his time spent living with the Dursleys – he’d have been smacked around the back of his legs with Uncle Vernon’s belt for ungratefulness. And yet somehow he was expected to behave normally, to act as if he hadn’t seen a _friend_ die right before his eyes, and as if the entire Wizarding Community hadn't been turned upside-down overnight.

Sirius sighed, and held Harry closer. He squeezed the boy tightly, himself not exactly certain of the right words to use or the best thing to say.

“If there was a spell I could say to take it all away, Harry, believe me I’d have used it. I’m sorry. You’ve been through an awful lot and it’s so unfair. You’re within your rights to feel angry, or upset, or whatever it is you're feeling,” Sirius said softly, rubbing reassuring circles on Harry’s lower back. Harry didn’t say anything but gripped his godfather tighter, feeling that he was finally with someone who understood. Sirius bent down and pressed a single kiss in the mess of Harry’s hair, hoping it was reassuring rather than sexual.

Despite his anger and loneliness and worry, Harry's stomach flipped.

“I should probably go down and say sorry,” Harry whispered after a while, squeezing his eyes shut, “it's just - I don't feel ready to say it right now. I spent the whole summer feeling left out and lonely.” He felt rubbish as soon as he said it out loud, but Sirius didn't judge him for it.

“No one's going to force you to do anything you don't want to do,” Sirius murmured, pulling back a little bit. He brushed away some of Harry's hair that had stuck to his face, amused when it appeared only slightly tidier for his efforts.

Harry bit his lip and looked away. “I feel like I spent the whole summer wanting to see them, and now I really don't want to see them.”

“That's alright. But I do think that tomorrow you ought to speak to them. It's not good to be at odds with your friends.”

Harry just nodded, and embraced Sirius again. All the worries he'd had about them over the summer seemed to slip away now that he was in front of him, alive and well. And _of course_ Sirius would understand, he'd probably had countless arguments with his fellow Marauders in his time. Although he still felt a little petulant for wanting to avoid his friends, Sirius was respecting his decision and giving him time to repair his wounded pride. Finally, he was being treated like an adult. He pulled back a little and Sirius smiled, watching him carefully.

Harry closed the gap between them by standing on his tiptoes. Sirius' lips were warm and in better condition than before, softened by a healthier diet, but a little prickly from his stubble. The arms around Harry's waist tightened, and the teen felt a thrill skitter down his spine at the thought of being held by _Sirius Black_. Sirius pushed his tongue into Harry's mouth, and the kiss took on a hungrier feel. Harry gripped Sirius' neck tighter, and Sirius let his hands wander to cup Harry's arse. He squeezed once, long and hard, before breaking off the kiss. Harry's cheeks were flushed pink, matching his kiss-swollen lips perfectly. Sirius gave him another quick peck, but pulled away before anything else could happen.

“Come on. I'll show you to my room.” He was still grabbing Harry's arse, and after a playful smack they left the dusty old room together via Side-Apparition.

*

Mrs Weasley's face fell. “Tired? But he can't be, we're all ready to see him!”

Sirius leaned against the doorframe so he could let people move past him. It was strange for Grimmauld Place to be so full of life. “I know it's disappointing, Mrs Weasley,” he said politely, calmly, “but he's really had a tough few weeks.”

“And that's _exactly_ why he needs to see his friends and family,” Mrs Weasley said briskly, as if that settled things.

Sirius was irritated, but tried not to let it show. He needed to remain patient with her, especially as she was someone very close to Harry, and he didn't want to put Harry in the position where he was made to take sides.

“I'm not going to force him to do anything he doesn't want to do, and he told me he needs rest, so I've told him to rest. He can come down later if he's hungry and ready to see everyone,” he explained patiently, albeit a little firmly. Remus, who had just squeezed past him into the kitchen, shot him a worried look, but Sirius chose to ignore it. This was his house, and his word trumped Molly's. Besides that, he was Harry's _Godfather_. He knew what was best for the boy.

Mrs Weasley tutted. “Nonsense. What he needs is a good meal inside him and good company. I've known him longer than you, and I know it's just the ticket.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, and was about to say something less than polite in response when Remus cut in.

“He _did_ look extraordinarily tired, Mrs Weasley, I think it might be too much for Harry tonight,” Remus said quickly, smiling kindly. Molly lowered the wooden spoon she was holding, motherly concern knitting her brows together.

“Well... alright, then. I suppose we can save him something if he wants to eat later,” she said, and turned back to the stove, stirring a pot with her spoon and the rest with her wand. Whilst her back was turned, Sirius shot a confused glance at Remus, who shrugged in response. The Animagus pushed himself away from the doorframe and took his place beside Remus. Automatically Remus leaned in close to his friend, like they had when trying to speak quietly during lessons at Hogwarts.

“How come she'll listen to you and not me?” Sirius muttered. Remus shook his head, but looked thoughtful.

“I'm guessing she doesn't want to be usurped as Harry's primary carer,” Remus whispered back. Sirius' eyes narrowed.

“I'm his Godfather-”

“ _I_ know that,” Remus cut in, nodding in greeting as Weasley after Weasley came into the kitchen for their evening meal, “and I think she means well.” Sirius tutted, about to say something else, when plates piled high with food magically manifested on the table, and he could so no more without running the risk of being overheard. He instead forced a smile of gratitude to Mrs Weasley and began to eat.

*

Harry had taken a much-needed shower in Sirius' en-suite bathroom whilst the evening meal went on. He'd examined each product neatly lining the bathtub one by one, inhaling the scent as if one would be bottled Sirius smell. Although none of them were an exact match, he did find one that he liked enough to use for himself. He squeezed his eyes shut as warm spray hit him in the face, as did the realisation that he could shower for as long as he wanted. The Dursleys had always precisely timed Harry's showers to ensure he wasn't costing them too much money, and Uncle Vernon had on more than one occasion turned off the hot water when he felt that Harry had been taking too long. The frigid water had made him cry out, and Dudley would laugh as he stood outside the bathroom, flicking the light-switch on and off to cause even more confusion and irritation.

Although this house was a prison for Sirius, only a slight step-up from Azkaban, this house was Harry's freedom. He could perform spells and not get punished or dragged up in front of the Minister of Magic. He could go to sleep and wake up whenever he wanted. He could spend time with Sirius.

Sirius... at the thought of the man, Harry grinned. He thought back to their kiss in the abandoned room downstairs, and his body responded with a hum of pleasure at the memory. His cock twitched. He'd enjoyed the feeling of being slighter, of being groped and held by the taller, broader man. He never got that feeling with Malfoy, who was too slim and pale and slight. Sirius was a man, and held a quiet strength. For some reason the thought made Harry's cock harden, and he moaned quietly under the warm water.

He slowly brought his hand down from his face, through his pubes to his stiffening cock. After one tug Harry let his eyes flutter closed, his imagination running away from him.

He imagined Sirius walking in on him grabbing his cock. The look of surprise replaced by an assertive, appreciative grin. The deliberate walk across the bathroom, clothes magically falling away, the eye contact. Sirius joining him in the shower. Their naked bodies pressing against each other. Another kiss, wet and sloppy from need. Harry moaning, Sirius kissing, nipping, biting. A large hand coming down to squeeze his arse. A hand between them gripping their cocks together, hips thrusting against each other, the water making everything slippery and hot and-

Harry cried out, strips of cum spurting from his cock. He tugged at his dick until he couldn't take anymore – just like he knew Sirius would – and let himself fall against the cool tiles of the bathroom, spent. He opened his eyes and he was still in Sirius' bathroom, and when his breathing slowed back to normal he smiled.

The water was still warm.

*

Sirius had fended off Hermione and Ron's nervous questioning reasonably well, and although Hermione had tried to argue further that he let them see Harry, Ron had gently pulled her away and the Animagus could breathe a sigh of relief. He knew he couldn't return upstairs immediately, even though he wanted to, so he sat in the expansive living room to pass the time. Fred and George were talking in hushed tones over a piece of parchment that concealed itself whenever someone tried to sneak a look, although occasionally they'd look over at Sirius, nodding. The other Weasleys contented themselves by playing Exploding Snap, which Ginny was very good at. Hermione and Remus had taken refuge in another corner, their noses buried in a book. Every now and then Hermione would glance across at Remus and say something, which the werewolf responded to without taking his eyes off the page.

“Messr Padfoot!” Two voices in perfect synchronicity interrupted Sirius' observations. He raised his eyebrows at the grinning Weasley twins, who pulled him off his chair by grabbing an arm each. As they made their way across the living room, the twins murmured a 'Notice-me-not' spell, and began talking quickly, excitedly.

“You're the stuff of legend-”

“-we're _huge_ fans of your work!”

“The Marauder's Map? Amazing!”

“Charming suits of armour to chase first-years at Halloween? Classic!”

“Inspired!”

“Innovative!”

“Just some of the words we use to describe-”

“Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!”

“And we need your help with some of these mischief-makers.”

Sirius looked down at the parchment, and his look of exasperation melted away into a broad grin.

*

Fred and George kept Sirius occupied for a while as he advised on various concoctions the boys had planned, or were experimenting with. Although still concerned about some of the advice he'd given about the more Potions-based questions the boys had had, Sirius felt useful and needed – something he usually only felt around Harry. He grinned as he realised it was now a reasonable time for him to go to bed without raising too many eyebrows, and he raced up the stairs like he was a horny fifth-year again.

Fifth-year. Harry was a fifth-year now. The thought should have at the very least slowed him down, made him re-evaluate his life choices. But the fun he'd had with the Weasley brothers and the kiss from earlier had him feeling better than he had in thirteen years or so, and that included being reunited with Moony and finding Harry again in the first place.

Finally Sirius made it to his bedroom, where he found Harry sat at his writing desk. Sirius had not made many adjustments to his room since his return to Grimmauld Place, given that his permanent-sticking charms still held fast, but the addition of the desk had been a moment of brilliance. It had allowed him to write and send his illicit messages to Harry with less worry and hassle. Harry turned in his seat and smiled, quill still in his hand. He was wearing pyjamas so ridiculously oversized Sirius wanted to laugh, before he remembered that the Dursleys considered Harry a burden, and he wondered whether he could get away with sending them dungbombs in the mail.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” Sirius asked. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“That sounds like something Professor Lupin would say,” he said. Sirius barked out a laugh.

“Never thought I'd hear him called that. Sounds weird. I always imagined him working in a Muggle library in some quiet little village somewhere.” Harry smiled, not quite sure what to say in response to that, so he gestured to his essay.

“It's your favourite subject,” he said, sarcasm lacing his words.

Sirius snorted. “Potions, then,” he said, grimacing. Harry nodded and turned a little more in his chair so that he was facing Sirius more fully. The legs of his pyjama bottoms were so long they covered his feet. It was adorable and enraging all at once.

“I don't know why he sets us this stuff. It can't be fun to read. It's not fun to write,” Harry went on, a note of complaint in his voice.

Sirius felt like he ought to be the responsible one and not project his own feelings about Snape and Potions and anything in general onto Harry, because he was the adult in the room and was supposed to act like one. But years in Azkaban, in total isolation and loneliness, and a longing for the fun relationships he’d had when he was younger was making it difficult to establish exactly what his role was. And did he even _want_ to be Harry’s caregiver? He certainly wanted to look after and take care of him, but he also wanted to do naughty things to him that Mrs Weasley definitely would never ever even think of doing.

He must have been frowning, because Harry stood up from his chair and tentatively wrapped his arms around Sirius’ chest, breathing him in. “You okay?” he asked.

Sirius went to open his mouth to speak, to maybe be the grown up one, but he didn’t. He leaned down and started kissing Harry, and it was just like before, tongues and lips pressing and stroking against each other. He held the teen like he was anchoring him to the floor, the tight grip extracting a gasp of surprise from the younger wizard. Harry felt himself getting into the kiss just when Sirius ended it, a pleased expression on his face.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to go and share a room with your friends tonight,” Sirius whispered, his eyes dark with lust. Harry shivered and shook his head. “Good.”

It would be easy to feel like a damned man, that he was on the wrong path and he would certainly be required to pay some toll for undertaking this journey. But it didn’t _feel_ wrong, so Sirius pushed all thoughts of worry out of his mind as he kissed Harry again, scraping his teeth against the teen’s kiss-plumped lips. Harry groaned, and then immediately felt embarrassed for being so vocal at just a kiss.

Sirius backed them towards the bed, going slowly so he wouldn’t hurt either of them. He pushed gently but firmly on Harry’s chest, and he got the idea, lying back against the pillows. Sirius laid himself on top of the teen, and they kissed over and over again.

Harry was in Heaven. Not only was he away from the Dursleys, but he was with the man he had fancied for a long time – and he was pressing him down with his weight into the sheets, just like he’d dreamed. Reality was more impressive though, and he felt a little thrill rush through him at the thought of being pressed against the bed. His dick was rapidly hardening, and he still had enough self-awareness to feel embarrassed. Sirius’ eyes were closed during the kiss, so he couldn’t see, but when he pulled away his eyes glittered triumphantly at the ruffled, flushed state before him.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice husky from the kiss. Harry didn’t trust himself to speak but nodded, averting his gaze. Sirius chuckled to himself and pressed a more innocent, more godfatherly kiss to Harry’s cheek before rolling off. Harry sat up, confused and impatient at the loss of contact.

“Come on. Bedtime.” Sirius said, as if nothing had happened. Harry blinked, frowning.

“I thought we-” he paused. He thought they were what? Going to have sex? The thought made the blush intensify, and he ducked his head, even though his thoughts were private. If he had known about Occlumency, he would have been mortified if there was the possibility of Sirius reading his thoughts. Luckily, Sirius was not able at Occlumency and had no desire to invade Harry’s mind like that. Nevertheless, he could see Harry’s disappointment.

“Harry…” Sirius started, clearing his throat to get rid of the huskiness as much as he could, dusting himself off with a nonchalance that was definitely forced, “you’re still only fifteen.”

“So?” Harry asked, and they both cringed. That was definitely the last thing he could have said to prove his maturity.

“Eighteen is the law,” Sirius said, though the words hurt him to say. Harry blinked and recoiled as if he had been threatened with a Hex.

“You don’t… want to?”

Oh God. Navigating sex was much more difficult than it had been when James and Sirius were the same age and one of them wasn’t his bloody _Godson_. Sirius took Harry’s hand in his, which was hesitantly allowed.

“Look,” Sirius started slowly, “I was in Azkaban for a very long time, and I have to hide in this house until the time comes when we can easily prove that I am an innocent man-” Harry didn’t miss the slight curl of Sirius’ mouth as he said this, and immediately sympathised with the caged man, “-and I do _not_ want to be heading straight back there. The law’s the law. You’re not eighteen.”

“Eighteen.” Harry repeated, sadly. Sirius muttered a Silencing spell just to be sure. He should have done so when he entered the room, but he’d been otherwise occupied. He cursed himself, just a little bit, for his recklessness.

“Eighteen,” Sirius confirmed, and Harry deflated, looking like a child who’d been told Christmas was cancelled. He folded his arms, shaking Sirius’ hand off his own. Sirius didn’t move to grab the hand again.

“I know it’s annoying,” Sirius went on, “but this is how it has to be. Do you want me to end up back in Azkaban?”

Harry kept his arms folded but relented a little in his heart. It made sense that Sirius would want to wait, if purely for legal reasons only. But just how were they going to be able to wait three years? Harry frowned and felt the burden of rules upon him. He was annoyed at Sirius’ carefulness and consideration.

“… Do you not want to?” Harry repeated his earlier question. Sirius sat back a little on the bed.

“I’m a man, Harry. I am very attracted to you. So yes, I want to have sex with you, if that’s what you mean,” the openness with which Sirius was speaking made Harry blush again, and he hated himself for his own childishness. “But we should wait,” Sirius said eventually, disappointedly.

Harry nodded, although he didn’t really agree. Sirius was looking out for not only himself but for _them_ , and that was actually something to be treasured, something that showed respect for _him_. He didn’t like it, but it was going to be this way, and so he had to agree.

“Fine,” he said, again a little too petulantly to claim that he was already an adult, “but we still get to do stuff together in the meantime, right?”

Sirius smiled. “Right. Can’t keep my hands to myself for three whole years, can I?” Fortunately, amazingly, Harry didn’t blush again, but he easily could have. The only one who spoke to him so crassly was Malfoy, and whilst it wasn’t exactly unwelcome from the Slytherin, it wasn’t totally agreeable to him, either. He wondered whether he would be approached again this year, and knew he would have to reject him.

With that, Sirius wriggled himself under the covers, and patted the spot next to him in the bed. Harry stared. Sirius shrugged.

“Are you saying you _want_ to sleep on the floor, Harry?” Harry said nothing, but got under the covers and pressed himself against Sirius’ side. “Thought so,” Sirius said, a little too smugly. He pressed a kiss against Harry’s temple. Harry closed his eyes in enjoyment, but found himself stifling a yawn. He was actually very tired, the events and emotional rollercoaster of the day taking its toll.

“Sleep,” Sirius said encouragingly, and Harry found himself nodding off, happy and content in the arms of his Godfather.


	5. Fifth Year, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Harry enjoy a few moments together before he returns to Hogwarts to begin his fifth year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I am so sorry for leaving it so long between updates... I actually wrote this rather quickly once I got started. The last few months have been a bit challenging, but I'm hoping to update a little more regularly than this long break! Tags have been updated to reflect new... activities. Hope you all enjoy the chapter, and thank you for your comments, kudos and bookmarks! They really help me to stay motivated.

Things were not easy. Harry was fifteen years old and had the horniness to match - Sirius had been incarcerated for twelve years and was finding his sex-drive again. But true to his word, Sirius and Harry had not progressed beyond some (admittedly fairly intense) kissing.

To say this was frustrating would be an understatement – but he knew not to push his luck. He got the feeling Sirius would be a lot more forgiving than the Dursleys if he tried to test some boundaries, but he didn’t want to mess anything up, and his life had a knack for finding trouble.

Many things happened. The first meeting with Hermione and Ron after their massive fall-out had been awkward, to say the least. Hermione, usually headstrong and stubborn, allowed herself to look disappointed in herself, and Ron passed Harry’s scrutiny by looking really, really sheepish.

“Look Harry, we know that Dumbledore telling us to not send up anything doesn’t sound like a good reason. We’re sad and scared, too.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m not scared of anything.” Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry couldn’t help but smile. “But it must’ve been horrible… sorry about that.”

With apologies as good as that, how could Harry refuse? He’d been craving contact and affection and love, so forgiving his best friends was not as difficult as he’d imagined it to be – in fact, a lot of the anger and frustration he’d felt over the summer was melting away. Even the Dementor attack seemed a million miles away, although the court date to determine whether he was expelled or not was looming.

The living space was actually a breath of fresh air, too. Grimmauld Place was not pretty or immaculate like the Dursley’s – but the chaos of it all endeared the place to Harry. The darkness and morbid magic that lingered was definitely not fun, and Sirius made it very clear that he resented his new prison almost as much as Azkaban. And yet Harry liked the haphazard staircases, the dusty shelves, the ancient books. It had an aesthetic to it that screamed magic, and he loved it.

Sirius had been less than impressed when Harry gushed to him about the house.

“It has a dark past,” he said, frowning thoughtfully.

“Well, we can give it a nice future.”

“… ’Suppose.”

And that had been that.

Remus was spending more time at Grimmauld Place to assist Sirius in his renovations, although at times Sirius' idea of home improvements seemed more like retribution. If Sirius thought of a new Hex he hadn't yet tried on his mother's portrait, he would immediately stop what he was doing to try it out. He enjoyed spending mealtimes updating Harry and friends on his recent attempts.

“So far today,” Sirius said, ticking them off on his fingers, “I've tried the Horn Tongue Hex, the Illegal Growth Hex, AND the Head Shrink Spell. None of them works.”

“But none of those would help with _removing_ the portrait,” Hermione said knowledgably as Harry spooned vegetables onto her plate.

Sirius was about to reply, when Remus sat down beside him. “He's not trying to remove her, he's trying to... shrink her head, turn her tongue into a horn, and... make her head grow?” Remus shook his head, examining the contents of his soup bowl with his spoon. “Sirius, why try both of those at the same time?”

Sirius shrugged. “Wanted to see if it made any difference.”

“Did it?”

“Nope.”

Perhaps it was because Harry hunted high and low for opportunities for them to be alone, but he had noticed just how much time Remus was spending with Sirius. It made sense, he reassured himself. They'd been separated for twelve years, he reminded himself. They had been best friends, once, he chided, a twinge of jealously in his heart when he saw them sharing a joke, Sirius barking with laughter so loud the echoes made Mrs Weasley frown disapprovingly.

Hermione was quick to approach the situation reasonably.

“It's only normal you want to spend time with Sirius, Harry. He's the closest thing to family you've got,” she said, pouring over one of the many books in the Black family library. It was a dusty old tome Harry and Ron had never heard of, but the young witch had insisted it was a 'classic of major historical importance', to which they'd shaken their heads.

“He's got us, too, you know,” Ron insisted. Harry wondered if he was just saying it to annoy Hermione, or if he really meant it, but the feeling of belonging made him feel proud, happy. Safe. Wanted.

Sometimes Hermione would engage Ron, and other times she wouldn't. She was wary of incurring Harry's wrath again after their disastrous first meetup of the summer, although she would often speak her mind all the same, repurcussions be damned. This time, she simply mumbled, “You know what I mean,” and settled back into her book.

Other times, it was really nice to spend time with both Sirius and Remus together. They both semed more youthful when around the other. Harry supposed it was because they had grown up together, probably closer than Sirius had been to his actual brother after getting kicked out of the family home at sixteen. He did appreciate that they deserved and needed time alone together, too, and that he wasn't entitled to Sirius' every spare moment of attention, but on occasion he did find himself watching the two with increasing jealousy.

Remus had a fondness for talking about James, which usually made Sirius go quiet and watchful of Harry, careful not to give too much away. Although he had never asked Harry about it directly, he was fairly certain no one had told him about the time he'd been James' lover, and he planned on keeping things that way.

One evening they were sitting together in the expansive living room, swapping stories of mischief over drinks of hot chocolate and butterbeer respectively.

The twins commanded much of the attention for the evening. “Got the idea in third year to hand out maps to all the first years of the best routes to get to their classes on time,” Fred said, grinning.

“It was a great idea! Worked really hard on that map, we did... McGonagall wasn't too pleased when she heard about boys getting into the girls bathrooms, though.” George said, grinning.

“Do we still have any of those maps lying around? Because I've thought of some improvements that would really-”

“DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.”

“Sorry, mum!” The twins called out at the same time.

Remus chuckled. “We made a map once. Worked out pretty well for us.”

Sirius leaned forwards, talking quietly to just the twins. “Maybe if you include something about that doorway on the first floor that just loops you back to the top of the staircase on the second floor heading downstairs... you know, 'legend has it if you go through the door ten times in under thirty seconds you end up in the girls' dormitory.' First years love that kind've thing.”

Remus grimaced, sipping from the bottle he held. He looked healthier than he had in months, although he always bore some sign of tiredness. “Are first years really that eager to get into the girls' dormitory, or was that just James?”

Sirius shrugged. He noticed his bottle was empty, and plucked the half-full bottle from Remus' hands, taking a long swig for himself before two fresh ones appeared in front of him. Harry frowned, the thought of Sirius' lips being where Remus' lips had once been an absolute affront to him, because how dare he do that? Anger boiled inside him. What the Hell was he-

“Yes, James was always trying to get into the girls dormitory,” Remus continued, lost in thought, “he tried _everything_. I think it was a personal project of his. He tried using a broomstick, dressing up as a girl, everything.”

The twins looked interested, and leaned forwards in perfect synchronicity. “Tell us more,” they said.

Hermione cleared her throat pointedly, eyes trained on another of the alleged 'Intangible Magical Heritage' books. Some of the books had been cursed to injure Muggles or non-Pure Blood Wizards, and her freshly bandaged hands showed the price she paid for knowledge (“Sounds like something my mother would do. I'm so sorry, Hermione,” Sirius said as he helped to soothe her wounds with a spell). Harry simply wasn't interested in learning how to access the girls' dormitory, so he thought it fine to talk to Hermione as the twins cackled and shared their own plots with the surviving Marauders.

There were times, however, when fortune smiled upon Harry and Sirius, and they found themselves alone, totally by accident. Mrs Weasley was cooking up a storm in the kitchen when she asked Harry to 'be a dear and fetch some things from the pantry'. Obediently, Harry did as she asked, only to find himself and Sirius in the small space together.

“Hey,” Harry said, surprised. Sirius didn't reply, but pushed the door closed behind Harry, and brought him in for a long, deep kiss. Large hands held Harry's cheek and neck, securing him in place – Harry's hands scrabbled for purchase on anything to keep him steady, ending up clutching Sirius' arms. They had barely had a moment to themselves for _days_ , and it was clearly affecting them both. Sirius' lips were firm, insistent, and Harry was being taken along for the ride.

“Harry, dear? Did you find it?”

“Err-” Sirius left Harry's lips long enough for him to stutter out an answer, pressing hot kisses along the pale length of his neck, “Sorry Mrs Weasley, it's so disorganised in here, what did you need again?” Sirius breathed heavily in his ear, and a jolt of pleasure trickled down Harry's spine. He didn't know how he was managing to keep his moans to himself. He thought he saw Sirius' eyes darken and a grin of mischief play on his lips.

“I've told that man time and again to sort that place out – just the oregano is fine for now, Harry,” Mrs Weasley called back, pots and pans clanging.

Sirius brought Harry back in for another kiss, sucking on the teen's lips for a moment before letting go. He was smirking, a self-satisfied smirk. He pressed a bottle of what Harry hoped was oregano into his hands, slapped him on the arse, and opened the door for him to leave.

Luckily Mrs Weasley was far too preoccupied with her cooking to notice the swollen lips, the ruffled hair, the prisoner of Azkaban slinking out of the pantry a few moments later.

As the date of Harry's hearing at the Ministry of Magic got closer, things did become a little strained in the household. Sirius had already announced the latest swathe of spells he'd used in an attempt to mess with his mother's portrait, Remus shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and disbelief, and the topic turned to the students of the household returning to Hogwarts. He frowned.

“I've always been a bit laissez-faire when it comes to formal schooling,” Sirius said, “probably learned more from Remus than I did the teachers, and you missed half the lessons most of the time.”

Remus tried to shake off the praise. “You're too kind,” he said humbly, “but as a former Professor of this lot-” he gestured to their audience, “I have to disagree, formal education is extremely-”

“Yeah, we're starting to think we're done with school, aren't we George?” Fred asked his twin. It was clear that the duo idolised Padfoot for his infamy if for nothing else.

“Fair to say we have the skills we need, I reckon,” George replied, and Mrs Weasley appeared behind them, her ears apparently tuned to the right wavelength to spot naughtiness. She wrung her hands in annoyance.

“No more of this 'leaving school early' nonsense. You two are finishing school, and that's that. And Sirius-” Mrs Weasley turned her attention to Sirius, who raised an eyebrow to indicate he was listening, “-you are a selfish man. You only want Harry to get expelled and my boys to quit school so that they can keep you company.”

Sirius didn't reply at first. Remus laid a warning hand on his arm – something Harry noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed as he considered his reply.

“Is that so, Mrs Weasley?” he asked, straightening his cutlery, brushing away imaginary crumbs. “I was under the impression I had Harry's best interests at heart, being his _Godfather_ and all.” His tone was clipped, a warning. Harry wanted desperately to say something, but thought better of it when he saw how Sirius' hand shook as he rearranged his knife.

Mrs Weasley put her hands on her hips. “You may be his Godfather, but that doesn't mean you know or want what's best for him.” Mrs Weasley turned to Harry and smiled widely. For the first time in his life, Harry was beginning to dislike her, and he didn't return the smile. “Harry, dear, education is very important, let no one tell you otherwise.” Her eyes narrowed and she turned to her twin sons. “And boys, you _will_ graduate from Hogwarts. That's final.”

Mrs Weasley walked away. Sirius glared at his plate. Then he stood, his chair screeching against the floor.

Remus tried to pull him back. “Sirius, you haven't finished your-”

“Not hungry.” Sirius stormed from the kitchen, allowing the door to swing closed behind him with a large BANG. Remus sighed and kept his eyes downcast, as if his soup could tell him the future. Fred and George exchanged a look that suggested they had heard this argument before, and returned wordlessly to their meals. Harry looked down at his plate and over at Sirius'. They'd both eaten very little, but he didn't feel like eating much, either. He put his head in his hands and gripped his unruly hair, tugging slightly.

Why was everyone allowed to talk about him as if he wasn't there? Why was he rarely treated as an adult? Why did he have to suffer seeing his boyfriend (his heart did a little leap when he thought of that word) being dismissed and belittled in his own house? Why did everyone mean well but hurt each other in the process? Why did Remus keep touching _his_ Sirius? Why was no one defending him? Why was no one talking about this? Why had no one stood up to Mrs Weasley?

Eventually, Harry removed his hair from his hands, and continued eating his meal, although he just picked it at rather than eating heartily. He didn't notice that Remus was watching him sit, and worry, and pick.

*

Harry had not been expelled, but the whole day had been one bewildering mess after another. The last-minute change of the time and location of the hearing was weird. Dumbledore's behaviour had been odd. Ron and Hermione's promotion to school prefects was unexpected (for the former) and frustating (had he not contributed to the school enough over the last four years?). The idea of a joint Harry-didn't-get-expelled and Ron-and-Hermione-are-prefects celebration seemed a little miscalculated.

Fred and George shared Harry's misgivings about the party.

“We didn't make it to team prefect,” George sighed, spooning a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Wonder why that was?” Fred wondered aloud, pouring a river of gravy onto his own pile of mash.

“It's like they don't think we're trustworthy-”

“-Or good role models-”

“Or something like that!”

“Did you want to be prefects?” Harry asked.

“Nah.”

“We're not losers, mate.”

“It's true,” Sirius said, sidling into the chair beside Harry's. The man looked happy, handsome. He certainly didn't seem upset, as Mrs Weasley had loudly predicted he would, when told the news that Harry hadn't been expelled after all. He clinked his glass of whiskey against Harry's glass of pumpkin juice. “Neither me nor your dad were prefects in fifth year. It's nothing to worry about.”

“Cheers to that!” Fred cried, and they all clinked their glasses together in solidarity. Harry felt significantly more cheerful. He would occasionally brush his hand against Sirius' arm or leg as the party went on, and although Sirius didn't say anything that self-satisfied look returned. It was barely noticeable to others, but the slight crinkling of the eyes and lips let Harry know he was doing the right things.

*

All too-soon was Harry's final day at Grimmauld Place before the trip into Central, Muggle London to take the Hogwarts Express back to school. Sirius had been in varying states of happiness and surliness as their time together grew short. Remus was spending some more time away from the household as he sought another job, but would still pop by to assist with cleaning.

It was morning, and a dull, drizzly day. Harry had managed to sneak away from his friends for a time, Ron too busy trying to find all his things to crush inside his trunk in preparation for the move tomorrow, and Hermione with her nose in a book. Him and Sirius were lying together on the older man's bed, listening to the rain patter against the windows. Sirius' room seemed to be in perpetual darkness these days, with heavy curtains blacking out the windows that looked out onto the quiet residential street below. Harry didn't mind, because he was with Sirius, but he did wonder if it was good for him to never even _see_ the outside, even if he was unable to actually _go_ outside. Sirius burned enough candles that seeing wasn't the problem, but he knew that being holed up inside was no different to him than being back in Azkaban.

Sirius was smoking. The part of Harry that had still remembered his Muggle upbringing wanted to spout off some facts about the risks of smoking, but he knew it was pointless. Truth be told, Harry himself was split on his return to Hogwarts. One the one hand, the thought of never returning to Hogwarts had been horrific and demoralising; on the other hand, the thought of leaving Sirius to his own devices, alone, was also rather uninviting.

Sirius sighed, finally finishing his cigarette.

“Got everything ready for tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Homework all done?”

“Yeah.”

“Even Potions?” Sirius couldn't hide the sneer in his voice. Harry smiled a little. It was nice having an ally in his hatred of Snape.

“Even Potions.”

“Good.” Sirius stared up at the ceiling of his four-poster bed. Harry wondered if he was thinking about what Mrs Weasley had said. He simply pushed himself closer to the other man, if that was even possible. He didn't know what to say to express that he didn't want the closeness to end, so he said nothing.

Sirius seemed to understand, planting a kiss on Harry's forehead as a reply.

Words were tough. Behaviour, not so much. Harry usually found himself torn between wanting to impress Sirius because he was his boyfriend and not wanting to do anything that would embarrass him. As a result, he hadn’t pushed things too far. So, when he pushed his hips against Sirius’ side, it was a relatively bold move.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He kept his gaze focused on the ceiling of his four-poster bed, as if the brocade patterns were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Harry did it again. He wasn’t hard, but he could easily be. He pushed his hips against Sirius’ side, lingering long enough for it to be more of a _grind_ than a press.

Sirius cleared his throat, eyes dropping from the patterns above. Green, playful but hopeful eyes looked up at him.

“Alright?” Sirius asked, not a quiver in his voice. It disheartened Harry a little that his antics had had no effect.

“Fine,” Harry replied, innocently. Sirius returned his gaze back to the furnishings of his bedroom.

Harry was not a patient teenager. His cock was hardening. He rubbed himself against Sirius this time, making his intentions very clear.

“You’re going to send me back to Azkaban if you carry on like that,” Sirius said, a hint of warning in his voice. Perhaps against his better judgement, Harry repeated the movement, inhibitions pushed aside in some pursuit of Gryffindor-like bravery. Harry was fairly certain that despite their jeans, Sirius felt his cock pressing between them.

The arm that had been around Harry’s middle slid down, and a warm hand cupped his arse, before tightening its grip and _groping_. Sirius then pushed against Harry’s arse so that he was still pushed up against his body, hard. All the while Sirius kept quiet, but his eyes were on Harry’s, a challenge in them. Sirius hadn’t been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.

For a moment Harry froze, the feeling of being forced against Sirius enticing. Then, experimentally, he rubbed a little harder against Sirius’ side, the friction delightful. He was finding it difficult to maintain eye contact, because the intense longing and pleasure and amusement in the grey eyes was too much. In the end Harry closed his eyes, and let himself grind and rub against Sirius’ side, a flutter of shame in his stomach overridden by the contact. Just to know that he was rubbing against _Sirius_ and he was getting away with it – being _encouraged_ to do it – was intoxicating.

At some point Harry had begun panting, but the friction in his jeans wasn’t enough. He needed skin-to-skin contact. He wanted to put his hand under his waistband and get himself off, shame be damned, but he wasn’t sure exactly how far he could push his luck, and he really didn’t want his final day with Sirius to be sullied by an argument.

“Sirius…” he tried to say it, but it came out more as a breathy whisper. Harry saw more than heard Sirius swear under his breath, eyes casting aside for a second.

Sirius was smart, very smart. He was also very creative. What could they do together that would satisfy them both, but wasn’t sex? Why was it, all of a sudden, so difficult to think? He grabbed Harry’s ass a little harder, almost hard enough to hurt, treading the line between pleasure and pain, moving the teen just enough to act as encouragement. Harry’s cheeks flushed a little, and he gasped and rubbed himself against his side faster. When had Harry become so irresistible? He’d been as devout as a monk when they’d first met at Grimmauld Place, but now that Harry was leaving… it only seemed right to have a proper send-off. Something to keep them both going on the long, lonely nights ahead of them.

“Get on your back,” Sirius growled, casting another Silencing and Locking charm on his room to be sure. Harry did as he was told, his obedience inflaming Sirius more. He smashed his lips against Harry’s, tongues pressing and rubbing. Sirius tore his lips away from Harry’s, the teen focusing only on him, hair messy and cheeks a tad peachy.

“Get under the covers,” Sirius ordered next. Harry slipped himself under the duvet, confused, but his eyes were shining as he stared up as Sirius threw his shirt aside to some corner of the room.

“Touch yourself,” Sirius said next in a hoarse whisper. Harry’s sense of decency must have returned because his cheeks really flushed then, but Sirius got on his back and unbelted his own jeans. Realising that Sirius was being serious, Harry’s eyes widened and his hands scrabbled to push down his too-large jeans. His hand gripped his cock and he sighed in relief. It was so much nicer than just grinding against stiff denim, even if it had been Sirius’ body he’d been rubbing himself against. Harry’s eyes fell closed again. He could hear Sirius pushing his jeans down just enough to reach his dick. He was desperate to see, to know what Sirius had down there, because he’d been imagining and dreaming about it for months, but the sound of Sirius’ breath hitching, his fist smacking against his belly, was enough to send him closer to the edge.

“Fuck…” Harry bit out between gritted teeth, wary even though the silencing charm was up. Being close to Sirius made everything ten times more intense, more pleasurable, more amazing. He was close.

Sirius, sensing Harry was almost there, grabbed the teen’s t-shirt and yanked it up, and Harry’s eyes flew open, startled. He was still covered by the duvet, but then Sirius was leaning down and kissing him, and his free hand wrapped around Sirius’ neck and clung desperately as he came with a cry, cum splattering his chest, hips thrusting up into his hands to ride it out for as long as he could.

As Harry was coming down from his high, Sirius returned to his back, fisting his cock. For the briefest of moments Harry caught a glimpse of Sirius’ cock, and he was definitely not disappointed with what he saw. He snuggled against Sirius’ shoulder as best he could with a load of cum across his chest, his precious nuzzling at odds with the frantic pace of Sirius’ hand. A moment or two later and Sirius came, a string of curses and swears accompanying his orgasm. Cum sprayed his chest in thick white ribbons, and Harry jumped away, a little nervous about being hit in the face. Sirius chuckled, albeit somewhat breathlessly.

“That was good,” he said, pulling the covers up enough to retain his modesty, despite not being a modest man. Sirius wound his arm back around Harry and pushed them together, murmuring a cleaning spell to rid them of their cum.

“Usually doesn’t go that far,” Sirius mumbled, pressing a kiss to Harry’s flushed cheeks.

“Huh?”

“The cum. Doesn’t usually go up to my chest. Usually just ends up in my bellybutton. Must be your doing.” Sirius explained, cuddling Harry properly now. Harry let himself be snuggled, grinning a little at the subtle suggestion that Sirius fancied him and that he was the cause of his mess. A little ashamed, he tugged his t-shit back down to cover his chest, too pale and slim after a year of no Quidditch.

It wasn’t going to be easy returning to Hogwarts after getting to spend so much time with Sirius. Nevertheless, the glimpse of Sirius’ cock and what they’d just done together was enough fuel for the sweet dreams Harry knew he’d be enjoying when term was back in full swing. For the time being, he decided to close off his mind and let himself be cuddled by the surprisingly affectionate Sirius Black.

*

That evening, Remus came over. His job-seeking was not going so well, and Sirius was offering him some comfort. Harry stood in the doorway of the living room for a while, unnoticed, as Remus wrung his hands in frustration, and Sirius closed the gap between them and embraced his friend. Jealousy prickled his heart, eclipsing the wonderful morning they’d been fortunate enough to share together, anger burning –

“I know, Harry,” Hermione said from behind Harry. The teen looked at her, startled. He had been so caught up in his feelings he hadn’t even heard her approach. Hermione tilted her head towards their former Professor and his Godfather.

“I know. I’ve known for a while, and it’s okay. Ron has no idea, of course.”

Harry said nothing, open-mouthed. He thought he’d been subtle around Sirius. How had she-

“I think we can keep it that way, though. This can be our little secret. I must admit, I found it strange myself at first… but Professor Lupin really is quite attractive, isn’t he? He’s handsome under the scars.”

Harry’s mouth opened wider, as if to object, but Hermione went on past him, book in hand, and settled herself in her usual chair to read by the fire, occasionally glancing up at Remus, infatuated with the werewolf. Harry stayed at the door for a moment longer, not quite sure of what had happened, before deciding to leave, quietly, heading back to his bedroom.


End file.
